THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


fo.eSu 


jfta*? 

'  "7/- 


WITH    BIRDS 

AND    FLOWERS 

BY 

ISAAC     BASSETT     CHOATE 


"  One  aide  small  birds  singing, 

On  the  other,  fresh  flowers  springing." 

—Old  Song. 


NEW     YORK 
HOME     JOTJBNAL     PRINT 

1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by  ISAAC  BASSETT  CHOATE. 


Contents* 

PAGE 

PINE  GROSBEAK 9 

ALDER  BLOOM 11 

SNOW  BUNTINGS 12 

PUSSY  -WILLOW 4 

KINGLET 15 

SAXIFRAGE 1G 

BLUEBIRD 17 

HEPATICAS 18 

PINE  LINNET 20 

ANEMONES 21 

REDWING  BLACKBIRDS 22 

MAYFLOWERS 23 

BROWN  TITLARK 24 

DANDELIONS 25 

ROBIN 27 

VIOLETS 28 

CUCKOO 29 

SPEEDWELL 31 

WELCOMING  THE  SWALLOW 32 

INNOCENTS 33 

CHIPPING  SPARROW 35 

ANDROMEDA 36 

WOODPECKER 37 

HEARTSEASE 39 

WARBLER  AND  TITMOUSE ,    ...  40 


761012 


Contents. 

PAGE 

AQUILEGIA 41 

FIELD  SPARROW 42 

KINGCUPS 43 

ORIOLE 44 

PANSIES 46 

SONG  SPARROW 47 

APPLE  BLOSSOMS 48 

VEERY 50 

BUTTERCUPS 51 

JENNIE  WREN 53 

LADY'S  SLIPPER 54 

NUTHATCH 55 

BARBERRY 56 

ON  BOBOLINK  GROUND 57 

MEADOW  CRANE'S  -  BILL 58 

VIREO 60 

PRIMROSE 61 

VESPERS  AND  MATINS 62 

SUN  DEW 63 

WHITE- THROATED  SPARROW 64 

LAUREL 65 

NIGHT  HAWK 66 

MOUSE- EAR  CHICKWEED 68 

WHIPPOORWILL 69 

WATER  LILIES .  71 


Contents* 

PAGE 

MEADOW  LARK 72 

IRIS 73 

BARN  SWALLOWS 74 

ORCHIS - 76 

CEDAR  BIRD 77 

WOOD- SORREL 78 

SWAMP  SPARROW 79 

SWEET  CLOVER 80 

BLUE  HERON —    81 

PLANTA  GENISTA 82 

"WARBLING  GREENLET 89 

SWAMP  PINK 90 

SWALLOW'S  FLIGHT 91 

PITCHER  PLANT 92 

PHOEBE C3 

CLEMATIS 94 

THRUSH'S  LULLABY 96 

TWIN  -  FLOWER 97 

YELLOW  BIRD 98 

YARROW 100 

WOOD  THRUSH 101 

A.RETHUSAS 103 

SAND  -  PIPER 104 

FORGET-ME-NOT 105 

HUMMING  BIRD ,  .  100 


Contents* 

PAGE 

MlTCHELLA 107 

PE-WIT,  PE-WEE 108 

SWEET-BRIAR 109 

BOBOLINKS Ill 

NODDING  THISTLE 113 

KINGBIRD 114 

ST.  JOHN'S  WORT 115 

YELLOW-THROATED  WARBLER 116 

HAREBELLS 117 

VESPER  SPARROW 118 

SWEET  MARIGOLDS 119 

KINGFISHER 120 

BOB  WHITE 121 

HARDBACK 123 

SPEEDING  THE  SWALLOW 124 

CARDINAL  -FLOWERS 125 

BLUE  JAY 126 

GOLDEN-HOD 127 

BLACKBIRDS 128 

FRINGED  GENTIANS 129 

PURPLE  FINCH 131 

ASTERS 132 

BROWN  CREEPER 133 

WITCH-HAZEL  BLOOM 134 

CHICK-A-DEE..  .  135 


PINE    GROSBEAK. 

Beneath  the  lowering  skies 

Low-hanging,  cold  and  gray, 
The  frozen  runnel  lies 

A  voiceless  stream  to-day  ; 
Its  life  went  with  the  summer  bird, 
In  nature  now  no  song  is  heard, 
No  strains  of  music  rise 
From  spirits  light  and  gay. 

The  falling  flakes  of  snow, 
On  downy  pinions  white 
Light  dancing  to  and  fro, 

Affect  a  mimic  flight ; 
They  gather  as  the  birds  in  flocks 
Low  hover  over  sands  and  rocks 
Uncertain  where  to  go, 
Uncertain  where  to  light. 


10 


To  bramble  by  the  wall, 

Dry  grass  and  golden-rod, 
Sweet  fern  and  thistle  tall, 

Milkweeds  of  silky  pod, 
There  comes  another  flock  so  gay 
Of  grosbeaks  from  the  north  to-day; 
With  merry  note  they  call, 
Greet  us  with  wink  and  nod. 

Warm-hearted  northern  bird, 

A  new-year's  wish  you  bring, 
No  other  song  is  heard, 
Is  seen  no  other  wing; 
How  warm  the  colors  of  your  dress ! 
This  gloomy  day  our  eyes  they  bless; 
Had  I  the  fitting  word, 
Your  praises  would  I  sing. 


ALDER    BLOOM. 

Still  pussy-willow  folds  her  hands 

Close  wrapped  in  muff  of  snowy  fur, 
Knee-deep  in  snow  impatient  stands 

Awaiting  earliest  bee  astir. 
There  seems  no  other  bush  awake 

Along  the  margin  of  the  stream, 
No  stir  of  sap  is  felt  to  break 

The  magic  of  the  winter's  dream. 

Now  lady  birch  from  melting'show 

Lifts  trailing  robe  with  dainty  hand 
Lithe  alder  bushes,  bending  low, 

In  reverence  about  her  stand. 
While  birch  and  willow  hesitate 

To  choose  a  color  to  their  taste, 
These  ardent  beaux,  without  debate, 

Their  tasseled  gold  put  on  in  haste. 


11 


SNOW    BUNTINGS. 

Brave  hearts  !  bold  spirits  stoutly  venturing  forth 

From  the  inclement  North  ! 

Your  slender,  graceful  forms 

Braving  the  winter's  cold,  the  winter's  icy  storms  ! 

Late  coming  with  the  biting  winds  that  blow, 

That  drive  the  falling  snow, 

Whirling  it  everywhere, 

With  giddy  dancing  flakes  filling  the  darkened  air, 

You  bring  into  the  gloom  of  these  short  days 

Bright  thoughts  of  sunny  rays 

To  light  our 'landscape  soon, 

To  kindle  to  a  burning  heat  our  summer's  noon. 

Nurslings  of  snow  and  ice,  on  frozen  ground 

Your  lone  home  nest  is  found, 

Beside  the  Polar  Sea 

Where  groans  and  moans  the  ice  in  agony. 

Perchance  in  all  your  life  you  have  not  seen 

The  fields  and  forests  green; 

Seen  maple  buds  unfold 

And  dandelions  weave  rare  cloth  of  gold. 


12 


13 


You  have  not  heard,  perchance,  the  running  streams, 

Nor  in  your  happiest  dreams 

The  liquid  music  heard 

With  which  on  summer  eve  wooes  kindred  bird. 

What  charms  can  we  not  offer  for  delay, 

If  you  will  only  stay 

Till  the  blithe  swallow  comes,— 

Till  round  the  orchard  trees  the  honey-storer  hums! 

Then  shall  you  watch,  delighted  at  the  sight, 

The  swallow's  darting  flight; 

With  wonder  then  shall  see 

Bright  rainbow-colored  butterfly  and  bee. 

Then  shall  there  flash  before  your  dazzled  eyes 

The  wealth  of  tropic  dyes 

On  ruby-throat;— but  no, 

You  would  be  homesick  for  the  pure  white  snow! 


PUSSY  -  "WILLOW. 

A  dream  of  blossoms  in  the  orchard  trees, 
Of  flowers  bright  in  garden  and  in  field, 

Of  sweets  distilled  within  the  cups  of  these, 
Of  stores  of  honeyed  nectar  they  will  yield ; 

A  dream  of  sunshine  filling  earth  and  skies, 
Of  sweetest  fragrance  borne  on  summer  breeze, 

Of  birds  familiar  and  of  butterflies, 
Haunts  in  their  cells  the  winter-sleeping  bees. 

A  dream  of  bluebirds  coming  back  in  spring,— 
Some  flecks  of  color  fallen  from  the  sky,— 

Of  merry  songs  the  wrens  and  linnets  sing, 
Of  cricket's  chirp  and  swallow's  twittering  cry ; 

A  dream  of  waters  singing  as  they  go, 
Where  over  bending  grass  they  softly  slip, 

Of  her  own  beauty  seen  in  pools  below, 
Thrills  Pussy- Willow  to  each  downy  tip. 

For  dreams  like  these  the  willow  cannot  sleep, 
Nor  bee  rest  easy  in  his  cloister  cell; 

Both  wake  at  once  from  slumber  long  and  deep:— 
One  common  thought  gives  common  life  as  well. 


14 


KINGLET. 

With  best  of  rights  has  Nature  crowned  you  king, 

For  while  we  say,  "  Poor  little  chilly  thing, 

Waiting  as  we  for  spring ! " 

You  then  begin  to  sing, 

And  all  the  pine  woods  with  the  music  ring. 

How  with  delight  our  weary  souls  are  stirred 

To  see  your  royal  person  ruffed  and  furred! 

Your  sweet  song  plainly  heard 

Comes  as  prophetic  word 

To  tell  of  summer  flower,  of  summer  bird. 

Beneath  the  sheltering  pine,  the  hemlock  tree, 

All  winter  long  your  busy  life  we  see, 

Mark  well  how  you  agree 

With  comrades  two  or  three; 

Blithe  neighbor,  you,  of  wren  and  chickadee. 

With  joy  through  falling  flakes  do  we  behold 

Your  flaming  crown  of  orange  set  in  gold, 

Worn  with  an  air  as  bold 

As,  in  midwinter  cold, 

Wears  titmouse  jaunty  cap  in  field  and  wold. 

Midsummer  with  its  ardor  does  not  please, 

With  you  the  rigor  of  the  North  agrees; 

But  when  our  rivers  freeze 

You  quit  the  Arctic  seas, — 

Come  here  to  stay  with  us,  with  chickadees. 


15 


SAXIFKAGE. 

Pale  nurslings  of  the  early  waking  year, 
Forerunners  of  the  coming  spring, 
Shy  creeping  round  the  edge 
Of  broken  granite  ledge 
Soon  as  the  drifts  of  winter  disappear; 
Tour  tender  rootlets  fondly  cling 
Close  in  the  frost-made  rifts, 
Your  slender  stalk  uplifts 

Sweet  clustering  flowers  of  hope  our  waiting  hearts  to 
cheer. 

You  claim  no  favored  spot  of  meadow  ground 
Where  violets  and  daisies  grow, 
But  o'er  earth's  bosom  bare 
You  softly  venture  where 
No  other  seemly  covering  would  be  found; 
You  brave  the  wintry  winds  that  blow 
Through  withered  grasses  sere, 
Wait  patiently  to  hear 

Young  bright -eyed,  golden  buttercups  glad  waken  all 
around. 


16 


BLUEBIKD. 

The  summer  sunshine  filtering  through 

The  birch  trees  leaning  o'er  the  stream, 
Falls  flashing  bright  on  waters  blue, 

In  flecks  that  to  my  fancy  seem 
White  lilies  bathed  in  morning  dew,— 
Sweet  image  true, 
Dear  Love,  of  you,— 
As  on  the  river's  breast  they  dream. 

Upon  the  mossy  bank  I  lie 

And,  looking  upward  through  the  trees, 
See  fleecy  clouds  go  drifting  high 

Upon  the  aether's  azure  seas, 
Calm  sailing  on  before  my  eye, 
Till  cloud  and  sky 
Are  rippled  by 
The  light  leaves  veering  in  the  breeze. 

This  minds  me  of  that  wintry  day,— 

The  winds  of  March  were  blustering, 
The  snow-flakes,  joined  in  frolic  gay, 

Whirled  round  in  many  a  magic  ring; 
A  rift  of  blue  shot  through  their  play,— 
More  mad  than  they, 
I  hailed  that  day 
The  bluebird,  harbinger  of  spring. 


17 


HEPATICAS. 

Shyest  of  Nature's  brood, 

Betreating  to  the  wood, 
Just  at  its  edge  a  refuge  have  ye  found; 

Like  partridge  chicks  in  fright, 

Keeping  yourselves  from  sight 
Under  the  dry  leaves  scattered  on  the  ground; 

Ye  would  not  shrink  so  much 

From  our  fond  sight  and  touch 
If  only  our  hearts'  feeling  could  be  known; 

We  wait  with  watching  eyes 

To  mark  your  mild  surprise 
That,  coming  early,  ye  come  not  alone. 

The  bluebird  yesterday 

Came  flying  home  this  way, 
He  piped  his  very  sweetest  song  of  you; 

In  fullest  faith  and  love 

We  are  now  come  to  prove 
That  bluebird's  prophecy  shall  turn  out  true. 


IS 


19 


"We  push  the  leaves  away, 

And  there  in  silken  gray 
Has  Xature  swaddled  tenderly  your  forms; 

Open  for  us  your  eyes! 

Look  to  the  April  skies 
Blue  as  in  summer  after  heavy  storms! 

Within  the  opening  lid 

A  thought  of  blue  is  hid, 
A  memory  of  skies  watched  long  ago; 

A  dream  ye  fondly  kept 

All  that  long  night  ye  slept 
Beneath  the  downy  coverlets  of  snow. 


PINE   LINNET. 

High  up  among  the  dark  green  boughs  of  pine 
That  lift  and  sway  in  breath  of  passing  breeze, 
Hang  sweet-toned  harps  scolian,  'mong  the  trees 

They  voice  a  spirit's  mood  akin  to  mine; 

A  mood  of  sober  reverie  and  thought 
Close  bordering  on  the  mystery  of  dreams 
In  which  the  memory  of  childhood  seems 

A  picture  from  the  Land  Eternal  brought. 

Low  chiming  with  tnat  wind -played  melody, 
A  soft,  sweet,  sympathetic  song  is  heard, 
The  tender  outburst  of  a  tuneful  bird 

Whose  slender  note  swells  Nature's  harmony. 

Shy  linnet  in  the  pine  tops  high  above, 
"We  watch  thee  flitting  oft  from  bough  to  bough, 
"We  listen  to  thy  cheerful  singing  now, 

A  heartfelt  note  in  Nature's  song  of  love. 

"Was  it  the  summer  wind's  bewitching  voice 
That  called  thee  to  the  pine  woods  lone  to-day 
As  it  so  often  calls  myself  this  way 

To  hear  a  world  of  innocence  rejoice  ? 


20 


ANEMONES. 

Fair  children  of  the  youthful  spring, 
Whose  forms  so  slender  rock  and  swing 

In  March  winds  roughly  blowing; 
Our  summer  friends  are  on  the  wing, 
Already  merry  bluebirds  sing, 

The  brookside  flag  is  growing. 

Ye  brave  the  cold  and  squally  skies 
In  bleak  and  open  fields  where  flies 

The  cloud's  unresting  shadow; 
Where  wasting  drift  by  stone  wall  lies, 
And  slow  the  oozing  water  dries 

From  brown  grass-matted  meadow. 

Where  strongest  blows  the  chilly  blast 
On  eastern  slopes  your  lot  is  cast, 

There  do  ye  wait  contented; 
By  wood  hepaticas  are  massed; 
In  sunny  corners  sheltered  fast 

Are  dandelions  tented. 

As  videttes  are  ye  posted  out 

The  guard  advanced  of  summer's  scout, 

Her  corps  of  observation; 
Your  snow-white  petals  boldly  flout 
Ensigns  of  Winter  in  a  rout; 

He  yields  his  domination. 


21 


KEDWTNG    BLACKBIRDS. 

On  tiptoe  leafless  birch  and  willow  stand 
In  alder  swamp  half  water  and  half  land, 
Their  slender  twigs  just  showing  faintest  green, 

While  down  among  the  dead  and  broken  flags, 

Impatient  of  the  spring  that  idly  lags, 
Thick  sprouting  shoots  are  seen 

Pushing  the  leaves  aside  ; 
As,  waking  on  the  sunny  slopes  of  ground, 
Anemones  and  liverworts  are  found 

"With  violets  blue -eyed. 

Now  comes  a  flock  of  redwings  chattering  wild, 

As  happy  in  their  coming  as  the  child 

That  welcomes  to  the  North  the  summer  bird, 

When  all  the  winter  long  in  field  and  grove 

No  gaily  painted  wing  was  seen  to  move, 
No  gushing  song  was  heard 

Filling  the  world  with  glee, 
As  now  do  blackbirds  from  the  ash  tree  tall 
Ten  thousand  times  repeat  their  noisy  call, 

"Chur-ree,  chur-ree,  chur-ree!" 


MAYFLOWEES. 

Sleeping,  soundly  sleeping  in  Nature's  close  em 
bracing, 

Quiet  lie  the  daisies  beneath  the  downy  snow; 
Leaping,  gaily  leaping,  in  maddest  frolic  racing, 
Squirrels  weave  the  mazes  of  footprints  to  and 
fro. 

Creeping,  softly  creeping,  oh,  so  shy  and  fearful! 
Grope  the  mayflowers  blindly  beneath  the  fallen 

leaves; 

Weeping,  sorely  weeping,  oh,  so  sad  and  tear 
ful! 
Bending  low  and  kindly  the  sky  of  April  grieves. 

Keeping,  closely  keeping  as  a  jealous  lover, 
Nature's  breast  affrighted  conceals  her  precious 

prize; 
Peeping,  coyly  peeping  through  the  wet  leaves' 

cover, 
To  a  world  delighted  Mayflower  opes  her  eyes. 


23 


BROWN     TITLARK. 

Soon  as  the  measured  stroke  we  hear 
Of  northward  flying  fowl  in  spring, 
Dear  little  titlark's  piping  clear 
Chimes  in  with  notes  of  hearty  cheer 
"Which  merry  bluebirds  sing. 

"We  know  not  if  from  east  or  west, 

From  south  or  north,  he  took  his  flight; 
Titlark  is  here  as  much  at  rest 
As  if  this  spot  he  loved  the  best, 
He  is  contented  quite. 

As  busy  as  the  prudent  bee, 

Of  spirits  ever  light  and  gay, 
He  so  much  flatters  us  that  we 
Are  in  the  hope  confirmed  that  he 

All  summer  long  will  stay. 

But  when  brisk  robin's  call  we  hear, 
"When  blackbirds  chatter  later  on, 
In  gladdest  season  of  the  year, 
"While  day  by  day  new  friends  appear, 
Behold,  titlark  is  gone! 


DANDELIONS. 

Dear  gipsy  flowers  that  love  so  well 
To  neighbor  with  the  pimpernel, 
By  trodden  paths  of  men  to  dwell 

In  humble  guise, 
Your  lives  and  fortunes  plainly  tell 

That  ye  are  wise. 

Soon  as  the  snowdrifts  disappear, 
"We  find  you  thickly  nocking  here 
As  bluebirds  come  with  notes  of  cheer, 

With  songs  of  May; 
Until  the  waning  of  the  year 

With  us  ye  stay. 

Grouped  on  the  greensward  here  and  there 
Your  tents  are  pitched  with  little  care 
Only  to  shun  the  chilly  air 

From  north  lands  blown, 
Your  courts  kept  open  to  the  fair 

Round  sun  at  noon. 


25 


Fearless  of  morning's  robber  bold 
Who  steals  the  pearls  your  petals  hold, 
Your  wealth  of  nightly  hoarded  gold 

Te  -wide  display, 
And  all  your  treasure  rich  unfold 

To  light  of  day. 

Gay  buttercups  and  golden -rod, 
Of  gentle  mien,  -with  gracious  nod 
Greet  you  uplooking  from  the  sod, 

But  fixed  your  gaze 
Upon  the  sun's  round  face  and  broad 

Through  summer  days. 

On  Earth's  green  mantle  set  as  bright 
As  spangles  on  the  robe  of  Night, 
Daily  up -springing  to  our  sight, 

To  you  'tis  given 
In  myriad  groups  to  rival  quite 

The  stars  of  heaven. 


KOBIN. 

Adown  the  field  the  ploughman  whistling  goes, 

One  foot  upon  the  sod  one  in  the  furrow, 
The  robin  hops  along,  companion  close, 

In  search  of  worm  turned  out  of  winter  burrow ; 
One  thinking  of  the  bairns  he  loves  the  best 

At  home  within  the  tender  care  of  mother, 
Poor  little  fledglings  chirping  in  the  nest 

Unceasing  anxious  cares  give  to  the  other. 

Both  happy  as  the  bright  hours  of  the  day, 

Eejoicing  each  in  other  as  a  neighbor, 
Both  conscious  of  the  love  that  doth  repay 

The  careful,  wearying  toil  of  daily  labor; 
The  burden  of  both  hearts  is  borne  by  song 

Light  on  the  summer  breeze,  in  music  swelling, 
Sweet  notes  that  simple  melody  prolong, 

Of  home  and  homely  joys  how  plainly  telling ! 


27 


VIOLETS. 

Sweet  nestlings  in  the  hearts  of  living  men 
Who  love  you  for  yourselves,  and  yet  again, 
Because  their  mothers  loved  you  in  their  youth 
When,  toiling  in  the  meadows  as  toiled  Ruth 
Among  the  reapers  of  the  golden  corn, 
They  loved  your  bloom  as,  later,  their  first-born. 

Spring's  darlings  are  ye,  yet  all  summer  through, 
Through  all  the  winter  time  is  Nature  true 
To  tender  thoughts  of  violets  in  the  grass, 
Not  from  her  memory  does  your  sweetness  pass ; 
When  Spring  returns,  the  blue  of  April  skies 
Just  matches  blue  we  see  in  your  soft  eyes. 

When  in  your  beds  ye  wake  from  slumber  sound, 
See  dandelions  waking  all  around! 
See  how  on  bending  stems  their  green  cups  hold 
Their  old-time  store  of  bright,  untarnished  gold! 
See,  in  this  April  sky,  last  April's  blue! 
Believe  as  little  changed  men's  love  for  you! 


CUCKOO. 

What  do  I  hear? 
Is  it  from  far  or  near? 
Is  it  upon  the  left  or  right, 
From  down  below  or  from  the  height, 
The  sound  of  any  living,  vocal  thing? 
Or  is  it  only  the  vain  conjuring 

Of  artist  Fancy  shaping  large  and  clear 
What  dryads  hear? 

It  seems  the  beat 
Of  silence  -  sandalled  feet 
As  Echo  flies  from  hill  to  hill, 
Across  the  vale,  across  the  rill; 
She  bears  that  note  as  soft  as  is  the  flight 
Of  owl  low  shadowing  a  mouse  at  night, 

That  sound  mysterious  she  doth  repeat 
From  lone  retreat. 


29 


30 


I  wonder  who 

"Would  think  that  low  "Cuckoo!" 
From  April's  budding  thickets  heard, 
"Was  call  of  any  waiting  bird 
That  had  outstripped  its  fellows  on  the  wing 
In  eager  haste  to  herald  coming  Spring? 
Its  faint  voice  calling,  soft  and  low, 
"Cuckoo!  Cuckoo!" 

"Who  only  knew 
The  calling  of  cuckoo 
Might  think  he  listened  to  the  ghost 
Of  some  voice  in  these  shadows  lost: 
The  loneliness  embodied  in  that  tone 
Seems  by  itself  to  wander  all  alone 

The  deep  recesses  of  the  woodlands  through, 
Calling,  "Cuckoo!" 


SPEEDWELL. 

Fair  flowers,  modest,  shy, 

In  depths  of  billowy  meadow  grasses  hiding, 
And  yet  worn  footpaths  nigh 

Is  found  the  wonted  place  of  your  abiding 
To  watch  with  curious  gaze  the  passer-by! 

Your  eyes,  wide  open,  tell 
In  tone  of  Saxon  blue  your  heart's  warm  feeling: 

As  from  the  hermit's  cell 
Shines  midnight  lamp  his  piety  revealing, 

The  fragrant  breath  of  flowers  bids  me,  "Speed  well ! ' 

How  gladly  fain  would  I 

This  long  bright  summer's  day  in  dreaming  squander, 
Among  the  flowers  lie, 

My  footsteps  ceasing  for  a  space  to  wander, 
But  cares  of  love  force  me  to  say,  "Good-bye!" 


31 


WELCOMING    THE    SWALLOW. 

Across  the  land,  across  the  spacious  sea, 
One  course  unchanging  kept  all  that  long  way, 
More  than  a  thousand  miles  since  yesterday 

Have  you  from  tropic  climes  come  back  to  me. 

Not  pausing  in  that  flight  until  you  saw 
The  broad -roofed  barn  with  ample  sheds  around, 
Beneath  their  eaves  and  on  their  rafters  found 

Long  rows  of  swallow -nests  of  mud  and  straw. 

Close  are  these  ranged  in  friendly  neighborhood 
As  village  streets  where  kindred  tribesmen  dwell, 
Of  equal  fortune  all — you  know  them  well  — 

Know  cautious  parents  and  adventurous  brood. 

Now  are  you  back  again  with  twittering  song, 
With  flight  impatient  darting  to  and  fro, 
Awaiting  summer  friends  of  long  ago 

As  for  your  coming  we  have  waited  long. 

Now  may  you  fancy  our  great  loneliness 
While  snowy  fields  no  swallow's  singing  knew; 
With  what  deep  longing  all  the  winter  through 

We've  waited  for  your  coming,  you  may  guess. 


32 


INNOCENTS. 

Is  it  a  gossamer  veil  rich  woven  in  threads  of  light, 
Filmy  fabric  of  mist  from  the  vapor  over  the  stream, 

Or  have  the  mischievous  fays  unraveled  the  moonbeams 

at  night, 
Weaving  the  lines  anew  to  the  tissue  fine  of  a  dream  ? 

Where  lay  the  pasture  and  field  not  more  than  a  fortnight 

ago 
Sleeping  their  winter  sleep  as  sound  as  do  swallows  at 

night, 
Only  the  hardback  and  fern  broke  through  the  blanket 

of  snow, 

In  the   turns  of   the  zigzag   fence    dry  mulleins   and 
thistles  in  sight ; 

Then  from  the  splintered  stub  the  c"aw  of  the  crow  was 

heard, 
Perchance  in  the  lilac  bush  the  back  of  a  bluebird  was 

seen  ; 
To-day  is  the  world  alive  to  the  boy,  the  bee,  and  the 

bird, 

Now  the  buds  on  the  lilac  sprouts  are  bursting  with 
purple  and  green. 


Dame  Nature  is  waking  below,  where  the  roots  of  the 

grasses  creep, 
Where,  crushed  to  a  spiral  whorl,  the  leaves  of  the 

mullein  lie, 
Keeping,  in  thought  or  in  dream,  the  form  of  the  rose 

while  they  sleep, 

Loose  scattered  over  the  sod  as  stars  are  set  in  the 
sky. 

Here  doth  she  wake  with  a  smile  beneath  that  magical 

veil 

Which  is  drawn  by  an  unseen  hand  to  replace  the  van 
ishing  snow ; 
Tinged  with  the  faintest  of  blue  is  that  delicate  covering 

pale  . 

Over  her  worn  face  spread  where  the  blossoming  inno 
cents  grow. 


CHIPPING    SPAKEOW. 

Not  for  the  gift  of  song, 

Low,  liquid  flutings  from  the  thrush's  throat, 
Poured  steadily  and  long, 
Poured  tenderly  yet  strong 

In  one  melodious  air  of  varied  note, 
Do  we  the  coming  greet 

Of  our  old  neighbor  in  the  early  spring; 
Enough  that  she  repeat 
That  one  note  soft  and  sweet 

Which  all  her  kindred  have  been  taught  to  sing. 

Not  for  a  proud  array 

To  match  the  splendor  of  the  oriole's  coat, 
Not  for  the  colors  gay, 
Bright  rainbow  tints  that  play 

Over  the  plumage  of  the  ruby -throat, 
This  April  day  do  we 

Hail  you,  old  neighbor,  after  months  of  snow; 
Enough  that  you  agree 
With  us  that  our  roof -tree 

Is  just  the  pleasantest  of  all  that  grow. 


ANDROMEDA. 

All  winter  long  beneath  tl*    level  snow, 

Crushed  down  and  frozen  in  ila  watery  bed 
The  pliant  shrub,  Andromeda,  below 

Has  slept  as  soundly  as  if  she  were  dead: 
Now  that  these  April  winds  begin  to  blow, 
These  freshet -swollen  runnels  noisy  flow, 

The  waking  plant  lifts  gracefully  her  head, 

Her  slender  twigs  outspread. 

All  ready  for  the  soft  south  winds  to  swing 

Hang  ivory  bells  the  drooping  spray  along 
To  chime  in  with  the  thrushes  when  they  sing 

And  swell  the  choral  chant  of  Nature's  song, 
"What  matters  it  we  cannot  hear  them  ring? 
To  Fancy's  ear  their  swaying  movements  bring 

A  rich  melodious  rhythm  sweet  and  strong 

Spring's  praises  to  prolong. 

Reminding  of  Andromeda  the  peer 

Of  Juno  held,  divinest  of  the  fair, 
Who  challenged  Nereus'  daughters  without  fear 

Her  charms  would  suffer  any  by  compare; 
For  this  presumption  she  was  fastened  near 
The  water's  edge,  left  without  pitying  tear 

To  meet  a  cruel  fate,  till  rescued  there 

By  Perseus  bold  to  dare. 


36 


WOODPECKEK. 

A  quick,  sharp  cry  of  anguish  or  of  fright, 

A  piercing  note  and  clear, 
A  gray  bird  winging  labored,  drooping  flight, 

Woodpecker  now  is  here. 

We  watch  him  climb  the  hemlock,  slow  and  sly, 

The  rough  bark  closely  scan 
Peer  round  the  tree -trunk  furtively  and  shy 

As  if  afraid  of  man. 

How  has  he  learned  our  presence  so  to  dread, 

To  shrink  from  human  sight  ? 
Is  it  instinctive,  in  his  nature  bred, 

Companionship  to  slight? 

Is  it  survival  from  that  ancient  day 

When  — daughter  of  the  sun  — 
Fair  Circe  met  a  huntsman  in  the  way — 

Her  love  that  moment  won  ? 


37 


38 


Venilia's  spouse  unmatched  by  mortal  foes, 

Unhurt  by  mortal  arms, 
Had  not  protecting  buckler  to  oppose 

Against  the  sorcerer's  charms. 

Beneath  her  potent  wand's  transforming  power 

Was  hunter  changed  to  prey; 
Tradition  says  that  from  that  luckless  hour 

Venilia  pined  away. 

'Tis  for  woodpeckers  well,  perhaps,  that  they 

From  human  glances  hide, 
For  these  can  weave  as  strong  a  spell  to-day 

As  any  Circe  tried. 


HEARTSEASE. 

Playmate  and  cousin  of  maid  Violet, 
Through  meadows  strolling  with  her,  hand  in 
hand, 

You  look  up  from  the  grasses  dewy  wet 

Through  tears  upon  your  lashes  shining  yet 
Before  the  sun  has  dried  or  breezes  fanned, 

Or  early  milkmaid  with  her  swain  has  met; 

Towards  the  brightening  east  your  face  is  set 
As  Parsee  worshipper  in  Persian  land, 

Or  strictest  devotee  of  Mahomet. 

Heartsease  we  call  you  for  the  blessed  sight 

Of  sweet  contentment  with  your  humble  lot, 
Enough  for  you  to  share  the  dew  of  night 
With  Violet,  and  with  her  greet  the  light, 

Or  bear  the  chilly  winds,  complaining  not. 
Your  patient  love  is  seen,  if  read  aright 
The  mild  expression  of  your  features  bright 
Serenely  overspread  with  earnest  thought, 
"Which  coming  to  our  hearts  wins  entrance  quite. 


39 


WAKBLEE    AND    TITMOUSE. 

Yellow  warbler  creeping 

Softly,  shyly  peeping 
Through  the  trembling  needles  of  the  whispering  pine, 

Thou  dost  watch  unsleeping, 

On  my  movements  keeping 
Just  as  sharp  a  lookout  as  I  would  keep  on  thine. 

Busy  at  your  labor, 

Calling  to  your  neighbor, 
Little  black -cap  titmouse,  with  your  cheery  "tweet!" 

Life  goes  on  how  gaily, 

Sharing  duties  daily 
With  your  fellow -worker  in  companionship  so  swe^t! 

You  a  recent  comer 

And  only  for  the  summer 
From  the  jaunty  black -cap  receive  a  welcome  warm; 

You  should  tarry  longer, 

Till  the  cold  is  stronger, 
To  hear  his  merry  piping  in  the  bleak  December  storm. 

Dream  not,  pray,  of  danger 

From  the  curious  stranger 
Standing  by  the  tree -trunk  and  closely  watching  you 

Charming  bit  of  yellow, 

More  charming  yet  your  fellow 

Who  will  stay  to  cheer  with  music  the  long  cold  win 
ter  through. 


AQUILEGIA. 

Bright  bits  of  color— red  and  orange  blending— 
Hung  out  from  clefts  of  ledges  bleak  and  bare, 
On  slender  branches  of  a  plant  low  bending, 
Slow  swinging  idly  on  the  summer  air, 

So  tender  and  so  frail, 

Bold  challenging  the  gale; 

High  ledges  suiting  best 

Where  eagles  build  their  nest! 
From  those  wild  freedom  -  loving  neighbors  came 
Fair  Aquilegia's  name. 

Your  stately  kin -flower,  on  rich  meadows  growing, 

Courts  not  the  north  wind's  rude  and  rough  caress, 
Nods  to  the  warm,  sweet  breeze  of  summer  going 
On  sandalled  feet  that  grass  blades  softly  press. 

Light  poised  on  easy  wing 

Its  purple  blossoms  swing 

As  doves  just  taking  flight, 

Or  hovering  to  alight. 

From  timid  doves,  as  from  bold  eagles  thine, 
Comes  name  of  Columbine. 


FIELD    SPAEKOW. 

Shy  little  mother  bird  with  beating  heart, 

"With  anxious  thought  for  those  she  loves  the  best, 
This  thin  grass  threading  with  deceptive  art 
To  lead  my  dread,  intruding  steps  apart 
From  her  fond  treasure  cowering  in  the  nest! 

Thou  hast  no  heart  to  sing  whilst  danger's  near, 

Nor  chirp  or  cry  of  pain  escapes  thy  throat, 
But  let  me  draw  aside  and  I  shall  hear 
A  low -trilled  melody  how  soft  and  clear! 
A  soul's  deep  tenderness  in  every  note! 

Thou  keepest  close  the  secret  of  thy  breast, 

Shared  with  thy  mate  and  with  thy  mate  alone, 
The  spot  where  lie  those  dear  ones  in  the  nest, 
Nor  from  thy  movements  can  the  place  be  guessed  — 
To  but  one  other  faithful  Watcher  known ! 


KINGCJJPS. 

When  knights  were  gathered  at  King  Arthur's  court 

The  chivalry,  the  peerage  of  the  land, 
Keen  to  display  their  skill  at  knightly  sport 

For  prize  of  gilded  belt,  of  princess'  hand; 
At  banquet  met  around  the  royal  board, 

That  table  round  by  Merlin  made  of  old, 
For  king  and  knight  rich,  ruddy  wine  was  poured. 

A  purple  drink,  in  cup  of  yellow  gold. 

Ye  golden  cups  on  Spring's  fair  meadows  green 

Are  kingcups  fit  to  grace  a  fairy  board, 
Held  high  in  dainty  hand  of  fairy  queen, 

Titania's  hand,  to  pledge  her  fairy  lord; 
Unsoiled  ye  are  by  any  stain  or  blot 

From  blood  of  mortal  man  in  battle  slain, 
Tour  wine  the  morning  dew  that  blushes  not 

At  any  fancy  bred  in  fairy  brain. 

Your  pliant  stalks  bend  under  passing  breeze, 

Ye  lout  and  curtesy  to  the  sun  above, 
He  sips  that  proffered  beverage  to  the  lees, 

Gives  back  gold  bright  as  that  which  misers  love. 
We  watch  your  glittering  cups  made  all  aglow 

With  living  splendor  on  these  festal  days, 
From  that  rich  pearly  offering  we  know 

What  courtly  homage  generous  Nature  pays. 


OKIOLE. 

When  Flora's  handmaids  throw 
Over  the  orchard  branches  bare 
A  robe  of  pink  and  white  so  fair 

It  rivals  -winter's  snow, 
Then  cherry  blossoms  give  to  sight, 
Their  purity  of  unstained  white, 
Then  in  the  pink  upon  the  apple  tree, 
So  delicate  and  soft,  we  faintly  see 
Fore-gleams  of  summer's  glow. 

Then  do  we  fondly  dream 
Of  golden  sunlight  on  the  hills, 
Of  laughter  rippling  from  the  rills, 

Of  lilies  on  the  stream; 
Then  squirrels  racing  without  care, 
Cray  insects  dancing  in  the  air, 
The  low  sweet  song  of  Nature  softly  heard, 
Crooned  over  lovingly  by  bee  and  bird, 
A  present  rapture  seem. 


While  we  are  lost  in  thought, 
Or  lost  in  wonder  and  surprise 
At  beauty  opening  to  our  eyes 

By  Spring's  fair  heralds  brought, 
Are  lost  in  dreams  of  loveliness 
Beyond  our  power  to  express, 
Upon  a  sudden,  startingly,  behold! 
A  flashing  gleam  of  crimson  and  of  gold 
Our  wondering  sight  has  caught. 

From  lands  where  all  the  year 
The  sun  burns  with  untempered  glow, 
Where  day  by  day  the  flowers  blow 

Nor  cold  of  winter  fear; 
From  groves  made  fair  with  orange  bloom 
And  scented  with  that  rich  perfume, 
While  barely  yet  in  Northern  pine  and  fir 
Do  currents  of  the  sap  begin  to  stir, 
The  oriole  is  here  I 


PANSIES. 

For  gentle  thought 
Of  all  things  innocent  and  good 
In  garden  growing  or  in  planted  field, 

In  orchard  or  in  wood; 
For  gentle  thought  of  plant  and  shrub  that  yield 

Their  fragrance  to  the  desert  spot, 
The  beauty  of  their  blossoms  for  delight 
Of  our  enraptured  sight, 
Their  sweet  and  mellow -ripened  fruit  for  food! 

For  kindly  thought 
Of  fellow  creatures  on  the  earth, 
Down  in  the  grasses,  up  among  the  trees, 

Their  home  their  place  of  birth; 
For  kindly  thought  of  birds  that  sing  and  bees 

Late  coming  home  with  burdens  sought 
From  flowers  opening  on  shrub  and  tree 
While  sing  the  birds  with  glee 
To  waken  in  our  hearts  their  joy  and  mirth ! 

For  happy  thought 
Of  friends,  the  absent  and  the  near, 
Who  watch,  as  we,  the  blossom  and  the  bird, 

Who  listen  hushed  to  hear 
The  songs  which  in  their  childhood  days  they  heard 

In  well -remembered  spot 
Where  stood  together  with  them  listening  long 
To  chirp,  or  trill,  or  song, 
Companions  in  their  joys  and  griefs  most  dear! 


SONG    SPAEEOW. 

A  few  notes,  three  or  four, 
Eepeated  o'er  and  o'er 

In  low,  soft,  liquid  strains, 
Make  all  thy  hymn  of  praise, 
Sing  all  love's  tender  lays, 

Sing  even  love's  sweet  pains. 

Thy  fond  mate  sitting  near 
Is  glad  as  I  to  hear 

That  triumph  of  thine  art; 
Just  that  same  song  of  thine, 
Sung  over  lino  by  line, 

Won  her  grandmother's  heart. 


APPLE    BLOSSOMS. 

Stripped  of  their  leaves  and  bare 

Have  stood  the  apple  trees  all  winter  long 

Uncheered  by  sparrow's  song 
Or  kingbird  hovering  noisy  in  the  air 

Above  its  wool -lined  nest, 

Guarding  its  twittering  young  with  jealous  care 
Against  marauding  hawk  that  bold  would  dare 

Its  orchard  home  molest. 

Their  trunks  with  moss  o'ergrown, 

All  gnarled  and  seamed  and  knotted  by  the  storm, 

With  little  grace  of  form, 
But  lichen-robed  in  hues  of  richest  tone 

They  stand  in  sturdy  row, 
Their  naked  boughs  as  sinewy  arms  upthrown 
Against  the  winter's  sky,  or  clad  alone 

In  ice  and  soft  white  snow. 

This  warm  sweet  summer's  day, 

A  foretaste  of  what  waits  for  us  in  June, 

The  orioles  are  in  tune, 
The  lilac  boughs  with  purple  bloom  are  gay; 

And  in  the  morning  light 
The  apple  trees  that  looked  so  old  and  gray, 
So  bare  of  beauty  in  this  beauteous  May, 

Stand  robed  in  pink  and  white! 


48 


4'J 


The  vision  of  delight 

Sends  Fancy  roving  where  the  fair  earth  lies 

Beneath  enchanting  skies, 
All  fields  and  hedges  decked  with  flowers  bright, 

With  ripening  fruits  as  well:  — 
There  in  a  garden  pleasant  to  the  sight 
Man  with  his  Maker  walked  in  his  own  right; 

Ah,  that  he  ever  fell! 

Or  Fancy,  seeing  these 

Sweet  blossoms  kindred  to  the  blushing  rose 

That  by  the  wayside  grows, 
Is  hurried  on  to  lands  beyond  the  seas, 

To  gardens  in  the  west 

Where,  watching  golden  apples  on  the  trees, 
Dwell  evermore  the  fair  Hesperides 

In  Islands  of  the  Blest. 


VEEKY. 

Soon  as  the  gray  of  morn  begins  to  break 

Through  leaden  border  of  dim  eastern  skies, 
Bathe  Hours  lead  up  the  day,  the  dull  clouds  take 

The  tincture  of  the  morning's  saffron  dyes; 
Take  forms  of  grace  as  for  Aurora's  sake 

Did  incense  from  her  flaming  altars  rise; 
Then  happy  birds  from  dreamless  slumbers  wake 
And  in  the  hush  of  silent  nature  make 

A  symphony  of  their  sweet  melodies. 

Soon  as  the  hasting  sun  goes  down  at  night, 

His  journey  of  the  day  brought  to  its  close, 
The  brilliancy  and  glory  of  his  light 

Intense  upon  the  clouds  above  he  throws; 
Beneath  those  curtain  folds  so  soft,  so  bright, 

A  world  of  tired  birds  sinks  to  repose, 
Fond  hearts  of  young  o'erflowing  with  delight, 
Sad  hearts  of  old  with  care  o'erburdened  quite 

In  lullabies  forget  their  joys,  their  woes. 

First  is  the  veery  of  that  tuneful  choir 

His  voice  in  morning  anthem  sweet  to  raise, 
"When,  too,  the  evening  shades  are  drawing  nigher 

He  is  the  last  to  close  his  simple  lays! 
No  sweeter  note  gives  out  Apollo's  lyre, 

None  sweeter  gives  the  shell  his  brother  plays; 
This  gift  of  tawny  thrush  transcends  the  fire 
Of  any  mortal  soul  that  would  aspire 

To  sing— as  now  I  sing — the  veery 's  praise. 


50 


BUTTEKCUPS. 

Through  the  meadows  running 

Crowfoot  tracks  are  seen, 
With  the  crow's  deep  cunning 

Hidden  in  the  green; 
Who  would  guess  their  warning, 

Who  would  stop  to  think, 
Finding  them  this  morning 

By  the  runnel's  brink  ? 

Crowfoot  tracks  in  legion 

Running  all  about 
Show  this  favored  region 

Has  seen  a  merry  rout; 
Here  have  housewife  fairies, 

With  fairy  swain  and  maid, 
Set  up  summer  dairies 

In  the  plantain's  shade. 


Tender  cowslips  over 

Breathes  a  fragrance  sweet 
From  the  scented  clover 

Fairy  heifers  eat; 
Milkworts  shyly  living 

With  primrose  and  with  fern, 
Golden  cream  are  giving 

For  the  fairies'  churn. 

Come  when  birds  are  singing 

Early  in  the  morn, 
"While  the  dew  is  clinging 

To  the  blades  of  corn, 
You  shall  see  each  fairy, 

Standing  tiptoe,  hold 
Product  of  her  dairy 

In  buttercup  of  gold. 


JENNIE    WEEN. 

In  early  spring  we  hear  you  sing 

The  old,  the  well-remembered  song 
Sung  o'er  and  o'er  in  years  before, 

Forgotten  not  in  winters  long; 
As  in  and  out,  and  all  about 

The  rural  homes  of  lonely  men, 
Your  presence  near  brings  added  cheer 

To  April's  sun,  sweet  Jennie  Wren. 

For  dainty  crumb  you  fearless  come 

To  open  window  for  your  food, 
To  set  the  child  with  wonder  wild, 

To  rouse  up  puss  with  thirst  for  blood, 
Safe  in  your  skill  to  turn  at  will 

As  sunbeam  flashed  from  mirror  bright, 
Poor  puss  you  tease  just  as  you  please, 

Then  have  you  disappeared  from  sight. 

All  summer  long  your  cheery  song 

"Was  heard  from  yard  and  garden  night 
From  early  light  till  when  at  night 

The  veery  sung  her  lullaby; 
That  song  denied,  at  Christmas-tide 

Our  thoughts  go  back  to  summer  when 
"With  hum  of  bees  round  cherry  trees 

Was  '^eard  sweet  voice  of  Jennie  Wren. 


63 


LADY'S  SUPPEB. 

Whose  dainty  foot 
Once  wore  in  maiden  pride 

This  unlaced  slipper  wrought  in  pink  and  white 
Left  here  in  sudden  flight 

At  this  pine's  root 
Upon  the  streamlet's  side  ? 
Or  was  it  cast  away 
By  dryad,  nymph,  or  fay, 
"When  she  was  overcome  and  dazed  by  panic  fright? 

It  swings  and  nods 
Upon  that  slender  stalk 
As  if  its  owner  had  but  just  now  fled; 
Could  she  have  heard  us  tread 

On  spongy  sods, 
Or  overheard  our  talk 
As  we  came  down  the  brook 
Minding  our  line  and  hook, 
Careful  that  timid  trout  should  not  be  seized  with  dread  ? 

Or  did  she  spy 
The  wolf's-foot  painted  green 
In  trailing  moss  upon  the  shaded  ground, 
Soft  creeping  all  around 

Cautious  and  shy 
As  prowling  wolf  is  seen? 
Did  she  consult  her  fear, 
Deeming  the  danger  near, 
And  leave  her  loosened  slipper  at  the  first  light  bound  ? 

54 


NUTHATCH. 

Up  and  down  the  maples  rough  and  shaggy  -  coated, 

Busy  searching  through  the  lichens  all  the  day, 
Shyly  creeps  the  tiny  nuthatch  snowy  -  throated, 

Sharply  eyeing  every  crevice  for  its  prey; 
In  and  out  along  the  boughs  with  gray  moss  covered, 

Gnarled  and  knotted  in  their  struggles  with  the 

storm, 
Through  the  mass  of  tender  leafage  is  discovered 

Here  and  there  about  its  work  that  slender  form. 

Pleasant  'tis  for  us  to  watch  our  cheerful  neighbor 

Happy  in  the  work  of  caring  for  its  brood, 
Finding  only  joy  and  comfort  in  its  labor, 

Winning  for  its  little  ones  their  daily  food; 
Pleasant  'tis  to  think  that  when  the  snow  is  flying, 

When  the  leaves  are  gone  and  gone  the  summer  bird, 
Up  among  the  frozen  branches  creaking,  crying, 

This  same  note  of  sweet  contentment  will  be  heard. 


55 


BAEBEKEY. 

On  rocky  hillside  pastures  growing  wild 
By  sufferance  of  man,  not  with  his  care, 

Among  the  broken  ledges,  boulders  piled 
In  menacing  disorder  here  and  there, 
Has  fled  the  barberry  bush  as  to  its  lair 

Flees  hunted  creature  of  the  wilderness 
Before  the  fierce  'pursuer  with  his  hound, 

Its  faint  heart  beating  wildly  in  distress 
To  hear  the  barking  dogs,  the  bugle's  sound. 

Here  has  the  barberry  a  refuge  found, 

A  desert  stronghold  for  its  safety  made, 
Has  taken  weapons  sharp  wherewith  to  wound 

"Whoever  may  its  chosen  spot  invade, 

Each  stem  and  leaf  thick  set  with  point  and  blade : 
For  war  equipped  it  hangs  in  early  spring 

Defiant  flag  of  gold  o'er  castle  wall, 
In  softer  mood  entices  with  a  string 

Of  beaded  coral  later  in  the  fall. 


ON    BOBOLINK    GEOUND. 

Here  "will  the  meadow  lark  be  found 
Near  neighbor  to  the  bobolink, 

Joint  owners  they  of  low  wet  ground 
That  lies  along  the  river's  brink, 

Where  thick  the  alder  bushes  grow, 

Where  willows  swing  their  branches  low, 
Of  running  stream  to  drink. 

Here  violets  in  the  mowing  field 
Wake  early  from  their  winter's  nest, 

Here  tufted  grasses  spring  to  shield 
Weak  fledglings  chirping  in  the  nest; 

Gay  grow  the  fields  with  orchids  rare, 

With  crane's-bill  and  with  crowfoot  fair; 
Here  sing  the  birds  their  best. 

Could  man  have  brought  from  regions  fair 
Whence  angels  led  him  to  his  birth, 

Gifts  that  with  wild  notes  could  compare, 
With  song  of  birds  of  equal  worth; 

A  gift  like  theirs  the  sense  to  please, 

To  charm  the  soul,  the  heart  to  ease, 
Theq  might  he  own  the  earth. 


OT 


MEADOW    CRANE'S-BILL. 

Through  meadows  green 
The  tiny  streamlet,  wandering  idly,  goes 
With  many  a  winding  turn 
Between  its  banks  of  fern, 

Or  clumps  of  hardback  growth  and  wilding  rose 
In  blossom  seen. 

Now  blowing  sweet 

From  over  strawberry  beds,  through  clustered  grove 
Of  flowering  basswood  trees, 
Loved  haunt  of  humming  bees, 
As  idle  as  the  brook  the  breezes  rove 
On  sandalled  feet. 

Lithe  grasses  low 

Bend  down  in  reverence  as  the  breezes  pass: 
The  fern  frond  easy  swings 
As  swallow  on  his  wings 
Turns  in  his  rapid  flight  and  skims  the  grass 
Aa  shadows  go. 


58 


la  noble  pride 

The  orchis  holds  his  purple  head  high  up 
Above  the  violets  shy 
That  in  the  grasses  lie, 
Outrivalling  the  golden  buttercup 
Close  by  his  side. 

These  nodding  greet 

The  gentle  crane's-bill  living  o'er  the  way; 
Well -bred  the  comely  race 
That  with  bewitching  grace 
The  compliments  of  buttercups  repay 
With  courtesy  sweet. 


VTBEO. 

What  soft  notes  ringing  clear, 
What  sweet  strain  do  we  hear 

Sung  to  melodious  tune 
From  out  the  elm  tops  high, 
Outlined  against  the  sky 

Of  this  bright  day  in  June  ? 

Fierce  beats  the  noontide  sun, 
But  rippling  waters  run, 

Song  led,  from  shaded  pool; 
Blithe  naiads  trip  along 
To  the  measure  of  that  song 

Heard  from  the  shadows  cool; 

Or  is  it  that  the  bird 
A  naiad's  step  has  heard, 

Has  caught  its  rhythmic  beat  ? 
Is  that  the  secret  known 
To  one  blest  bird  alone 

To  make  its  song  so  sweet? 


60 


PKIMEOSE. 

The  sun  is  down,  — his  latest  lingering  beams 

Swept  from  far  western  hills  their  crown  of  gold, 
They  took  the  shimmering  light  from  off  the  streams : 
The  burnished  gold  that  from  the  kingcup  gleams 
Green  sepals  close  enfold. 

The  moon  is  up,  —  through  limbs  of  ash  trees  dead 

She  peers  across  the  dusky  wooded  land, 
On  clover  bloom  the  winds  more  lightly  tread, 
The  drowsy  poppy  nods  and  droops  her  head, 
Her  flame  more  lightly  fanned. 

The  laden  bee,  surprised  while  homeward  bound, 

Belated  by  his  greed,  holds  on  his  way; 
His  droning  hum  low  blends  with  pensive  sound 
Of  home -fast  cricket  chirping  on  the  ground 
To  while  the  hours  away. 

Soft  sleeps  the  daisy  by  the  sparrow's  nest, 

The  firefly  flickers  over  meadows  damp, 
Low  chirping  thrushes,  'neath  their  mother's  breast, 
With  her  sweet  lullaby  are  hushed  to  rest :  — 
Pale  primrose  lights  her  lamp. 

Bright  yellow  buttercup  at  summer's  noon 

Keturns  the  sun  more  than  he  gives  of  gold, 
So  does  the  primrose,  with  her  lavish  boon, 
Burn  softer  flame  than  does  the  tender  moon, — 
Shines  with  a  ray  less  cold. 


61 


VESPERS    AND    MATINS. 

Soft  and  slow, 
Faint  and  low, 

Sings  the  hermit  thrush  her  evening  lullaby; 
On  a  birch  twig  swinging, 
To  her  loved  ones  singing, 
Swinging, 
Singing, 

Softer  yet  and  slower, 
Fainter  yet  and  lower, 

King  the  bell  -like  notes  till  all  the  echoes  die, 
Till  the  hush  of  slumbers 
Drowns  the  drowsy  numbers, 
Till  the  sleep  of  sacred  silence  seals  the  weary 
watcher's  eye. 

Soon  as  light 
Follows  night, 
Coursing  all  the  lands  and  waters  o'er, 

"With  the  day's  first  breaking, 
From  their  slumbers  waking,  — 
Cheep,  cheep; 
Peep,  peep,— 
In  a  burst  of  gladness, 
Of  ecstatic  madness, 

All  the  birds  together  their  songs  of  greeting  pour, 
Pour  their  souls  in  singing 
Till  the  woods  are  ringing 

Just  as  if  on  eastern  borders  day  had  never  dawned 
before. 


SUN    DEW. 

The  soil  beneath  our  feet, 
Along  the  brook -side  in  the  mowing  field, 
Is  soft  and  springy,  —  downy  mosses  yield 
To  lightest  pressure;  where  our  feet  have  set 
A  deep  mould  in  low  bended  grasses  wet, 

Else  waters  cool  and  sweet. 

From  all  the  leaves  around, 

From  stalk  and  stem,  from  blade  and  flower  cup 
The  sun  has  drunk  the  dew  of  morning  up; 
The  purple  orchis  proudly  lifts  its  head, 
Blue  violets  lie  sleepy  in  their  bed, 

In  dreamy  slumber  drowned. 

Here  sun  dew  in  the  moss 
Stretches  its  leaf -stalks  as  extended  arms, 
Holds  to  the  heavens  its  broad,  round,  upturned  palms 
Brimmed  with  the  crystal  drops  its  leaves  distill, 
Begs  the  hot  noontide  sunbeam  drink  its  fill, 

Nor  suffers  any  loss. 


WHITE  -  THKOATED    SPARROW. 

How  sweet  that  singing  heard 
From  thicket  fringing  round  the  shadowy  wood 
Close  bordering  the  field  of  ripening  corn  ! 

'Tis  the  white -throated  bird. 
The  wren -like  sparrow,  singing  plaintive  song, 
Low  calling  lovingly,  in  tender  mood, 

His  mate  away  so  long. 
How  have  I  listened  to  that  longing  cry ! 
"Madam  Peabody,  Peabody,  Peabody,  why 

Tarry  you  all  the  morn  ?" 

The  summer  noon  is  still, 
Save  cricket's  chirping  in  the  yellowing  grain 
Blends  with  the  hum  of  honey -gathering  bees, 

In  concert  faint  but  shrilL 
The  butterfly  goes  past  on  noiseless  wing: 
And  now  I  hear  in  melody  again 

The  lonely  sparrow  sing, 
Low  chanting  over  that  same  song  alway, 
"Madam  Peabody,  Peabody,  Peabody,  pray, 

Hurry  back  home,  do,  please." 


LAUKEL. 

Under  the  winter's  snow 

All  flashing,  sparkling  white, 
With  ice  thick  crusted  o'er, 
With  rime  and  frost-work  hoar 
And  crystals  shining  bright, 
Long  leaves  of  laurel  show 

As  soft,  as  tender,  green 
As  when  in  summer  seen 
Beneath  the  hot  sun  all  aglow 

On  pastured  slope,  on  mountain  height, 
Gray  granite  ledges  hung  before 
To  curtain  these  with  velvet  sheen. 

Now  with  a  softer  white 
Than  any  Winter  knows, 
Just  tinted  with  the  flush 
Of  a  half -conscious  blush 
As  borrowed  from  the  rose, 
Comes  laurel  to  our  sight. 

Pranked  out  in  such  array 
It  seems  the  fair  one  may 
Have  met  elves  on  midsummer's  night; 
This  work  of  Nature's  weaving  throws 
Such  witchery  on  rock  and  bush 
We  know  not  what  to  think  or  say. 


65 


NIGHT  HAWK. 

Silent  of  voice  and  wing, 

Low  brooding  all  the  day 

On  bare  rock  lichened  gray, 
You  hear  the  thickets  ring 
With  songs  the  thrushes  sing, 

Unheeding  all  the  wood's  glad  life  at  play. 

As  motionless  as  stone, 

All  mottled  brown  and  white 

Your  form  deceives  the  sight ; 
It  seems  that  life  has  flown, 
That  flesh  and  blood  have  grown 

Into  the  semblance  of  gray  granite  quite  ; 

Until  the  step  is  nigh 
Of  one  whose  eager  quest 
For  Nature's  thought  is  pressed, 

Then  with  a  whimpering  cry, 

As  broken- winged,  you  fly 
Or  flutter  helpless  from  your  guarded  nest. 


66 


Not  yet  does  Nature  quite 

Her  secret  drawer  unlock; 

Still  do  the  round  eggs  mock 
The  intruder's  keenest  sight, 
For,  speckled  brown  and  white, 

These  match  the  gray  tone  of  the  naked  rock. 

Without  a  stick  to  hedge 

The  bare  home  spot  around, 

The  lonely  nest  is  found 
Upon  the  hard,  sharp  edge 
Of  a  sun -beaten  ledge 

That  crops  out  in  the  open  pasture  ground. 


MOUSE-EAR    CHICKWEED. 

Dearest  but  humblest  born 

Of  Nature's  blameless  brood, 

Creeping  among  the  grass,  among  the  corn, 

Keeping  well  out  of  sight, 

Beneath  the  dock  and  plantain  hidden  quite, 

Sleeping  in  bivouac  through  the  summer's  night 

Around  the  glow-worm's  light, 

Poor  gipsy  vagabond  of  road  and  lane, 

Thou  hast  of  men  their  coldness  and  disdain, 

Contempt  and  bitter  scorn: 

Yet  mother  Nature,  good 

To  all  her  children  with  unstinted  love, 

Holds  thy  form  closely  pressed 

To  her  warm  loving  breast, 

And  smiles  in  sunshine  on  thy  frequent  bloom. 

Brighter  the  world  to  thee 

Than  to  the  laurel  tree 

Brought  from  the  dank  depths  of  the  forest  gloom, 

Only  a  prize  to  be 

To  grace  a  victory, 

Or,  mimicking  bowed  Sorrow,  lean  above 

Red-handed  conqueror  sleeping  in  his  tomb. 


68 


WHIPPOORWILL. 

One  by  one  the  voices  of  the  daytime 

Cease  their  prattle  at  the  evening  hour, 
Weary  with  the  pleasures  of  their  playtime 

Little  birds  are  resting  in  their  bower; 
One  by  one  their  hymns  of  praise  are  chanted, 

Brought  to  a  lapsing  close  in  evensong, 
In  the  silent  night  the  wood  is  haunted 
By  a  mournful  cry  repeated  long. 
Deeper  grow  the  shadows 
On  the  fields  and  meadows; 
Sinking  low  or  rising  high, 
Shining  far  or  flashing  nigh, 
Lights  her  lamp  the  firefly. 
Bound  the  silent  mill, 
In  the  evening  still, 
Up  the  rill,  down  the  rill, 
Wanders  weary  Echo  crying  still 
"  Whip -poor- Will  J  Whip  -poor-  Will!'- 


69 


70 


Now  the  long  bright  summer's  day  is  ended, 

Faded  wholly  from  the  earth  and  sky, 
Clover  field  and  wooded  slope  are  blended 

In  one  mass  of  purple  to  the  eye : 
All  alone,  more  lonely  for  that  crying, 

From  the  distant  wood  or  orchard  near, 
Echo,  busy  to  that  voice  replying, 
Sad  the  cry  repeats  in  accents  clear. 
Nearer  sounds  the  flowing 
Of  the  mill-stream  going 
Down  its  bed  with  broken  fall, 
Tumbling  over  rocks  and  all; 
With  its  roar  is  heard  the  call 
Mingling  with  the  trill 
Of  the  tree -toad  shrilL 
Up  the  hill,  down  the  hill 
Wanders  weary  Fx;ho  crying  still, 
"  Whip-poor-  Will  I   "Whip -poor -Will  I" 


WATER,    LILIES. 

Beneath  the  shadows  cold 

Of  broken  ledges  old, 

High  towering,  sheer  and  bold, 
Against  the  smiling  field  of  summer's  blue, 
Where,  every  morning,  climbs  the  sun  anew 
The  mystic  golden  staircase  leading  through 

Vast  upward  curling  fold 

Of  gray  mist  softly  rolled 
From  off  the  water's  face,  —  the  still  lake  lies, 
Calm,  clear  and  blue  as  noon -tide's  cloudless  skies. 

All  watching  for  the  light, 

Still  in  the  shade  of  night 

The  royal  lilies  white 
Their  close  shut  petals  slowly  now  unfold, 
Displaying  to  the  day  the  wealth  they  hold, 
A  golden  altar  with  its  flame  of  gold, 

All  glowing  warm  and  bright 

To  fascinate  the  sight, 
And  breathing  out  a  fragrance  as  divine 
As  is  frankincense  on  Apollo's  shrine. 


71 


MEADOW    LAKK. 

rhe  breeze  that  faintest  fragrance  brings 

From  hardback,  fern,  and  thistle, 
Bears  song  of  meadow  lark  that  sings 

With  low  and  plaintive  whistle; 
Above  the  dusty  stubble  ground, 

The  thicket's  leafy  cover, 
Wide  pasture -waste,  sun -burnt  and  browned. 

Shy  larks,  shrill  piping,  hover. 

While  yet  the  snow  lies  on  the  hill 

We  greet  this  early  comer, 
We  neighbor  with  it  gladly  till 

We've  said  "Good-bye!"  to  summer. 
How  many  a  morning  of  July, 

When  in  the  meadow  mowing, 
I've  listened  to  that  timid  cry 

Heard  with  the  cock's  bold  crowing! 


nm 

Above  the  piashy  pool, 

With  pond -weed  arrowing  in  close  neighborhood 
And  standing  knee -deep  in  the  stagnant  flood. 

Beneath  the  sun's  hot  rays 

At  noon  of  summer  days, 
Fair,  languid  Iris  droops  her  head,  and  dreams 
Of  harebells  overhanging  laughing  streams 

Up  on  the  mountains  cooL 

The  meadow  all  around 

Is  soft  with  moss  and  grasses  growing  green, 
Here  lilies,  jonquils,  crocuses  are  seen, 

All  flowers  growing  best 

Where  silent  waters  rest; 
Foundation  these  from  which  the  arches  rise 
To  span  with  splendid  hues  the  weeping  skies;  — 

Here  pot  of  gold  is  found! 

By  that  fair,  shining  way, 
Came  Iris  once  down  from  Olympus  high, 
She  marked  with  light  her  course  across  the  sky, 

And  still  it  shows  as  plain, 

Fresh  washed  with  falling  rain, 
As  if  the  maid  of  Juno  took  her  flight 
Back  from  the  earth  to  that  celestial  height 

Where  it-  is  noou  for  aye. 


73 


BARN    SWALLOWS. 

I  have  in  mind  a  farmstead  '  mong  the  hills, 
A  broken  region  rich  in  ponds  and  rills, 
With  mountain  ranges  on  the  north  and  west, 
Upon  the  south,  a  lonely  lake  at  rest; 
The  farm  itself  a  ridge  of  easy  slope, 

With  dark  old  forest  growth  on  either  side, 
Its  fields  and  pastures  offering  generous  scope 

For  oxen  ploughing,  cattle  ranging  wide: 
Those  fields  and  pastures  fenced  with  walls  of  stone, 
Gray  boulders  with  gray  lichens  overgrown ; 
The  rising  summit  of  the  long  ridge  crowned 
With  low  farm -buildings  weather  -  worn  and  browned. 
With  orchard  trees  close  clustering  around. 

I  have  in  mind  a  barn  extending  wide, 
With  low -roofed  sheds  attached  on  either  side, 
Their  eaves,  projecting,  offered  tempting  seat 
For  nests  of  swallows,  ranged  as  on  a  street; 
Adobe -built,  these  seemed  to  wondering  eyes 

That  watched  for  years  that  street's  increasing 

length, 
That  saw  its  walls  by  swallow  labor  rise, 

As  if  'twere  built  of  Cyclopean  strength, 
But  underneath  those  ample  sheds,  storm-proof, 
Within  the  barn,  beneath  its  spacious  roof, 
Wherever  rib  or  rafter  furnished  rest, 
Was  built  of  mud  and  straw  a  swallow's  nest 
For  brood  in  Continental  colors  dressed. 


75 


Swift  over  fields  of  clover,  skimming  low, 
The  eager  swallows  hurry  to  and  fro; 
With  easy  grace  they  turn,  they  sink,  they  rise, 
To  catch  the  white -winged  miller  as  it  flies. 
A  sweetly  simple  melody  they  sing, 

With  friendly  note  the  barefoot  boy  they  greet, 
While  plying  brisk  their  foray  on  the  wing, 

They  circle  round  the  wondering  urchin's  feet; 
But  when  the  parent  birds  come  home  with  food, 
The  barn  is  bedlam  with  the  noisy  brood. 
Each  year  such  care  the  swallow's  time  employs 
To  still,  to  hush  the  summer's  twittering  noise ;  — 
Ghosts  of  their  youth  as  men  are  ghosts  of  boys. 


OUGHTS. 

Deep  in  moist  meadows  with  fair  iris  growing, 
"Where  blossomed  buttercups  in  early  May, 

Its  spike  of  purple  flowers  proudly  showing, 
The  orchis  holds  its  head  high  up  to-day. 

It  stands  breast  -  high  among  the  bending  grasses 
That  with  the  summer  breezes  rise  and  sink, 

Loads  with  its  fragrance  every  breath  that  passes, 
Though  burdened  this  with  song  of  bobolink. 

At  dawn  it  sends  this  winsome  message  over 
To  call  afield  the  bees  and  butterflies, 

Above  the  billowy  seas  of  purple  clover 
This  eager  horde  of  honey -seekers  hies. 

They  find  the  orchis,  in  its  stately  beauty, 
As  picket  stationed  here  some  charge  to  keep, 

Alert,  devoted  to  its  sacred  duty, 
To  guard  the  spot  where  tender  fledglings  sleep. 

Above  that  helmet  plumed,  and  worn  so  proudly, 
On  fluttering  wing  hangs  anxious  bobolink; 

lie  greets  his  waiting  home  by  singing  loudly, 
With  cadence  of  his  song  at  last  to  sink. 


76 


CEDAR    BIRD. 

Trig,  natty  little  fop, 

The  prince  of  feathered  beaux, 
At  home  in  cedar's  top 

Or  in  the  orchard  close; 
With  equal  neatness  dressed 
In  ashy -olive  vest, 

Whether  in  sunshine  bright  or  dismal  storm 
We  note  your  simple  taste,  your  comely  form. 

With  well-becoming  grace 

You  wear  your  jaunty  crest, 
With  pertness  in  your  face 
Come  an  unbidden  guest; 
Your  friends  you  bring  to  eat 
Our  cherries  ripe  and  sweet 
As  if  it  were  for  you  and  yours  alone 
That  in  our  gardens  cherries  red  are  grown. 

With  joy  you  hail  the  sight 

Of  cherries  growing  red, 
You  watch  with  keen  delight 
The  crimson  blushes  spread, 
While  not  a  blush  we  trace 
On  your  provoking  face 
All  radiant  with  eagerness  and  haste 
The  quality  of  ox-heart  fruit  to  taste. 


77 


WOOD-SOEKEL. 

Upon  the  sloping  bank  of  woodland  stream, 
Fair  as  a  fairy's  dream, 

"Wakes  nymph  "Wood  -  Sorrel,  opening  wide  her  eyes 
To  Spring's  low -arching  skies; 
Its  leaves, —as  many  as  the  Graces — seen 
At  evening  golden  -  green, 
"Will  in  the  morning  light  display  with  pride 
Their  purple  under  side, 
"Worn  as  the  royal  purple  of  the  East 
To  grace  a  royal  feast, 
Embroidered  either  side  in  lines  as  fail- 
As  locks  of  maiden's  hair. 

Heart-shaped  each  tiny  leaf  that  we  may  know 

The  tender  thought  below, 

That  springs  to  meet  us  in  the  blossoms  sweet 

Low  bowing  at  our  feet; 

On  slender  stems  of  pink  and  green  they  swing 

As  birds  upon  the  wing, 

Their  white -em purpled  petals  worn  as  gay 

As  crown  by  Queen  of  May, 

In  numbers  gathering  to  this  quiet  nook 

Beside  the  plashy  brook, 

They  deck  this  mossy  bank  beneath  the  firs 

For  Flora's  worshippers. 


78 


SWAMP   SPAEEOW. 

Along  the  sloping  edge 

Of  clover  fields  red  -  blossoming  in  June, 
Where  butterflies  and  bees  together  come 

To  fill  the  air  with  beauty  and  with  sound, 

Till  all  the  place  around 
Is  hushed  to  quiet  by  a  murmurous  hum, 
There  grow  the  hazels  thickest  in  the  hedge 
There  dogwood  blossomed  in  the  early  Spring; 

The  briers  keep  the  barefoot  boy  away 
Though  in  the  swamp  he  hears  a  shy  bird  sing 

A  wonderful  sweet  tune, 
Though  to  his  ears  the  notes  melodious  ring 

As  if  'twere  Orpheus  with  his  strings  at  play. 

A  breath  of  incense  sweet 

Is  breathed  from  twin  -  flowers  growing  in  the  moss 
That  trails  along  the  hemlock  half  -  decayed, 

High  up  in  tops  of  whispering  pines  and  firs 

The  soft  breeze  lightly  stirs 
Their  balsam  boughs  till  melody  is  made, 
Then  does  the  low    trill  of  the  sparrow  greet 
The  listening  ear  of  deep  -  enchanted  boy 

Who,  wondering,  holds  his  breath  and  listens  long, 
Thrilled,  as  the  trees  are  thrilled,  with  rapturous  joy, 

Impatient  of  the  loss 
Of  single  note  sung  by  that  minstrel  coy ;  — 

Himself  lost  in  the  mystery  of  song. 


79 


SWEET    CLOVER. 

As  -wild  thyme,  on  the  slopes  of  Hybla  growing1, 

Was  fed  upon  by  honey -loving  bees, 
Soft  airs  Sicilian  from  the  mountain  blowing 

Sweet  perfume  wafted  far  out  on  the  seas; 
So  in  our  lanes,  through  fields  and  meadows  going, 

Where  clasp  the  pleading  buttercups  our  knees, 
White  clover  springs  from  Nature's  kindly  sowing, 

Rich  fragrance  breathing  on  the  passing  breeze. 

New  England's  snow -clad  hills  this  winter's  morning 

With  slopes  of  Sicily  but  ill  compare, 
Our  fields  wear  only  white  for  their  adorning 

While  thyme  and  cytisus  are  growing  there; 
Let  but  the  breath  of  June  steal  softly  over 

Our  glimmer  landscape  clothed  in  beauty  rare, 
Then  will  the  perfume  of  sweet-scented  clover 

Tempt  honey  -  hoarding  misers  to  despair. 


80 


BLUE    HEEON. 

Low  down  the  western  sky 
Kests  setting  sun  on  mountain's  burning  ridge 
As  if  his  tired  steeds 
Were  here  turned  loose  to  graze  rich  lotus 

meads, 

In  evening  peace,  that  lie 
Beyond  the  utmost  reach  of  mortal  eye; 
His  slant  rays  span  with  golden  bridge 
The  broad  low  valley  with  its  darkening  stream, 
"Whose  silent  reaches  under  giant  pines 
In  shadow  slumber  while  the  low  sun  shines 
Upon  those  lofty  tops  with  good -night  beam. 

Slow  coming  into  view 

From  out  the  fleecy  clouds  of  vapor  rolled 
From  sea  on  eastern  side, 
A  small  dark  speck  is  suddenly  descried 
Against  the  deepening  blue: 
It  grows  upon  the  vision  as  they  grew, 

Those  coming  ships  we  watched  of  old. 
Against  the  arrowy  beams  flashed  from  the  west 

The  "heron  wings  her  way  with  daily  food, 

Filched  from  the  sea,  to  feed  her  hungry  brood 
Left,  '  mong  the  pine  tops,  in  a  lonely  nest. 


PLANTA    GENISTA. 

An  open  space 

Of  almost  naked  rock, 

Of  ledges  rounded  into  billowy  forms 

Like  those  that  heave  upon  the  Atlantic's  breast, 

That,  shoreward  driven  by  storms, 

Eoll  in  on  Swampscot  Beach  with  swelling  crest, 

Till,  checked  their  race, 

They  break  with  thundering  shock ; 

So  lie  Lynn  Commons,  bleak  and  bare, 

With  only  here  and  there 

In  some  deep  -  sheltered  nook 

Grown  round  by  alders  low, 

By  swamp -pink  blossoming  like  snow, 

A  little  crystal  pool 

Of  waters  fresh  and  cool, 

Fed  by  the  tribute  of  a  slender  brook, 

To  whose  green  side 

Sweet  clover  blossoms  tempt  the  wandering  bees, 

Where,  in  lithe  elms  and  spreading  willow  trees, 

Do  wren  and  thrush  all  summer  long  abide. 


82 


These  sloping  sides 

Of  glacier  -  polished  ledge, 

As  if,  in  some  far -distant  age  unknown, 

These  had  been  smoothed  as  rocks  upon  the  shore 

Of  an  ice  -  burdened  zone, 

Their  rounded  surface  barely  covered  o'er 

With  strip  of  soil  that  hides 

Scant  border  round  their  edge,  — 

A  soil  as  thin  and  poor 

As  that  on  English  moor 

Washed  down  by  winter  rains, 

Too  scanty  soil  to  bear 

A  forest  growth,  but  everywhere 

Low  savin  bushes  keep 

Firm  hold  in  crevice  deep 

Beside  the  purple  porphyritic  veins. 

Here  fairies  tread, 

Hither  among  the  moss  the  cinque -foil  creeps, 

With  jealous  lichens  gray  it  firmly  keeps 

A  miser's  clutch  upon  its  rocky  bed. 


Through  inisty  haze 

"We  look  upon  this  rugged  scene,  — 

This  bit  of  Old  World  landscape  in  the  New  — 

At  early  morning  in  the  month  of  June; 

The  sun  drinks  up  the  dew, 

But  notes  are  lacking  from  the  siren  tune 

Heard  on  such  days 

In  fields  and  woodlands  green; 

We  wonder  at  the  change, 

The  scene  presents  a  strange, 

But  rapturous,  aspect  to  our  sight! 

What  harmony  doth  show 

Of  light  above,  of  gold  below, 

As  if  had  Nature  tried 

The  naked  rock  to  hide 

With  filmy  folds  of  saffron  -  colored  light! 

She  weaves  us  here 

With  most  consummate  skill  a  splendid  shroud, 

Warm  fabric  of  the  sunbeam  and  the  cloud, 

Veiling  her  features  hard  with  smile  and  tear. 


So  gray  and  cold 

Were  ledges  bare  and  steep 

Before  the  wild  flowers  wakened  to  the  light, 

Eoused  by  the  coming  of  the  year's  bright  day 

After  its  winter  night! 

Dreamed  these  of  tones  in  color,  forms  bedight 

With  burnished  gold, 

In  their  unbroken  sleep  ? 

Of  coquetry  of  light  and  shade, 

Arch  nod  to  passing  maid, 

Of  banners  borne  afield 

Above  high -waving  crest, 

Above  long  ranks  of  gallant  men  abreast  ? 

Or  was  it  with  surprise 

This  splendor  met  their  eyes, 

Flashed  from  the  ledge  as  from  a  golden  shield  ? 

O  banneret 

Unfurled  of  richest  golden  -  petalled  bloom, 

Of  yellow  -  flowered,  heath  -  enamored  broom 

Worn  in  the  cap  of  the  Plantagenet! 


86 


Our  souls  with  awe 

Are  bowed  before  the  sight 

Of  so  much  beauty  on  the  landscape  thrown, 

Such  wealth  of  color  used  with  lavish  hand 

On  cold,  gray  granite  stone, 

Until  this  lone  spot  rivals  any  land 

Eyes  ever  saw 

Beneath  the  heaven's  broad  light, 

Until  we  come  to  realize 

The  rapture  and  surprise 

With  which  Linnaeus  found 

Himself,  that  day  in  June 

When  thrush  and  linnet  were  in  tune, 

Delighted  with  the  sight 

Of  golden  brojm  flowers  bright 

Clothing  a  barren  waste  of  English  ground. 

Low  kneeling  there 

Upon  that  stretch  of  richly  colored  sod 

He  raised  his  voice  in  thankfulness  to  God 

For  having  made  a  world  so  bright  and  fair. 


87 


As  now  we  gaze 

On  yellow  -  tufted  broom, 

We  see  this  stranger  plant,  of  foreign  stock, 

Clinging  to  this  one  lone  and  rugged  spot, 

This  naked  barren  rock, 

Now  are  we  carried  back  in  pondering  thought 

To  earlier  days 

When  this  bright  bit  of  bloom 

Our  fathers  and  our  mothers  bore 

From  England's  pleasant  shore 

To  plant  in  their  new  home, 

That,  as  it  spread  and  grew, 

Its  sight  might  link  the  Old  World  to  the  New; 

That  it  might  blossom  here 

At  noontide  of  the  year 

As  it  had  bloomed  on  Surrey's  chalky  loam. 

Its  beauty  told, 

When  petals  opened  with  their  burning  glow 

And  lighted  up  this  waste  with  brilliant  show, 

Affection's  bonds  were  bright  as  chains  of  gold. 


We  look  away, 

Far  off  upon  the  sea, 

Beyond  the  outline  of  this  broken  shore; 

So  does  our  eager  fancy  strive  to  press 

From  when  our  sires  came  o'er 

From  mother  England  to  this  wilderness. 

In  that  far  day 

On  Gallic  field  we  see 

Proud  Henry  wearing  badge  of  broom, 

Vailed  at  &  Becket's  tomb, 

But  shining  in  the  fray. 

And  him  we  see,  whose  name 

Brought  fear  to  man  and  brute  where'er  he  came, 

The  lion  -  hearted  one, 

Leading  Crusaders  on 

To  victory  beneath  this  yellow  spray. 

Our  fancies  go 

On  wayward  wanderings,  and  back  they  bring 

Some  thought  of  Geoffrey,  Anjou's  noble  king, 

Of  those  who  sleep  with  him  at  Fontevrault. 


WABBLING    GREENLET. 

Still  fall  the  rain  -  drops  through  the  birch  leaves 
tender, 

"With  motion  tremulous,,  with  rippling  sound, 
They  steal  along  the  smooth  twigs  lithe  and  slender, 

To  fall  on  withered  leaves  that  strew  the  ground; 
Through  rifts  in  ragged  storm-clouds  rent  and 
broken, 

Pour  down  the  golden  sunbeams  bright  and  warm, 
They  thread  the  lines  of  rain  and  set  the  token 

Of  ancient  covenant  on  passing  storm. 
Down  through  the  birch  leaves,  with  the  rain  -  drops 
falling, 

Come  liquid  strains  of  simplest  melody, 
Sweet,  cheerful  note  of  happy  greenlet  calling 

To  kindred  songster  in  the  neighbor  tree; 
The  frowning  cloud  with  glorious  splendor  lighted 

In  speechless  rapture  holds  entranced  gaze,  — 
Let  greenlet's  tones,  with  sound  of  leaves  united, 

Now  weave  for  us  a  fitting  hymn  of  praise ! 


89 


SWAMP    PINK. 

The  maiden's  happiness, 
Which  she  foi-  worlds  on  worlds  would  not  confess 

The  world  cau  rightly  guess 
From  merry  song  that  sings  itself  to-day; 

Let  her  contrive  all  art 
Her  every  look  and  movement  will  betray 

The  secret  of  her  heart. 

The  flower,  opening  pale 
On  wilding  shrub,  its  sweetness  must  exhale 

To  breath  of  passing  gale; 
Though  envious  brambles  clamber  to  conceal 

The  modest  blushing  face, 
Her  breath  of  sweetest  fragrance  will  reveal 

The  Swamp  Pink's  lowly  place. 


90 


SWALLOWS    FLIGHT. 

Glad  greeting  give  we  in  the  spring 
When,  in  surprise,  we  hear  you  sing 
Or  see  the  glancing  of  a  wing 

Round  low  eaves  overjutting; 
'Neath  shingle  edge  and  water  spout 
Ye  gather,  flitting  in  and  out 
Your  clay-built  homes  thick  set  about, 

On  beam  and  plate  abutting. 

In  empty  loft  of  barn  and  shed, 
Above  the  unused  cart  and  sled, 
In  summers  past  your  young  were  bred 

With  not  one  thought  of  danger. 
Content  with  your  domestic  joys, 
The  tease  of  puss,  delight  of  boys, 
Ye  filled  the  spacious  barn  with  noise 

That  drowned  the  low  from  manger. 

O  swallow,  at  the  early  light 

The  mower  marked  thy  rapid  fight, 

That  dipping  of  the  wings  so  slight 

With  which  thou  crossed  the  ocean. 
How  well  do  I  remember  thee 
Thus  darting  by  in  front  of  me, 
And  in  that  rhythmic  flight  I  see 

The  poetry  of  motion. 


91 


PITCHER -PLANT. 

Once  was  a  modern  fancy  tempted  fair 

By  ancient  Grecian  urn  of  beauty  rare, 

Whose  well  proportioned  form  had  potter  graced 

With  glad  procession,  round  the  border  traced; 

The  lovely  maiden's  beauty  ne'er  should  fade, 

The  eager  lover  never  win  the  maid; 

So  had  the  artist  to  his  fancy  wrought, 

So  shaped  to  this  far  age  his  happiest  thought! 

Henceforth  that  urn  its  round  of  years  repeats 

Accompanied  by  gracious  thought  of  Keats. 

To-day  these  pitchers,  wrought  to  Nature's  mind 

In  lonely  wood -surrounded  spot  I  find, 

Their  forms  as  perfect  and  unchanged  they  hold 

As  potter's  work  preserved  from  days  of  old; 

So  curls  the  lip  about  the  outer  rim, 

So  stands  the  water  even  with  the  brim, 

So  are  they  painted  by  the  summer  sun, 

In  brown  and  purple  tints  the  colors  run, 

Fronds  blend  with  vines  except  where  mosses 

hide 
A  patch  of  green  upon  the  under  side. 


92 


PHOEBE. 

Who  hears  that  note  of  call 
For  Phoebe  in  the  spring  ? 

From  garden  fence,  or  wall, 

From  sloping  well  -  sweep  tall 
The  cries  repeated  ring;  — 
Soon  will  the  summons  bring 

The  bird  beloved  of  all. 

Still,  "Phoebe!"  do  we  hear, 
Called  from  the  orchard  tree 

In  accents  loud  and  clear; 

When  will  the  bird  appear? 
Calling  impatiently 
When  shall  the  fond  mate  see 

The  housewife,  Phoebe,  here? 

Here  is  the  last  year's  nest 

'Twas  Phoebe's  happy  home, 

Of  workmanship  the  best, 

With  silken  fibers  dressed, 
Fair  as  a  palace  dome: 
Again  shall  Phoebe  come 

Again  will  it  be  blest. 

Ah,  Phoebe,  Phoebe,  you 
Are  really  staying  late! 

Nay,  this  will  never  do, 

To  slight  a  love  so  true! 
Already  is  your  mate 
Made  quite  disconsolate, 

And  we  are  waiting,  too. 

93 


CLEMATIS. 

Climbing:  over  walls  and  hedges, 
Clambering  over  rocks  and  ledges, 
Buns  at  large  the  wilding  clematis  as  a  truant 

child  at  play; 

Hand  in  hand  with  clinging  bramble, 
Boon  companions  both,  these  ramble 
Orer  ditches  by  the  roadside,  all  along  the  dusty 
way. 

Through  the  fields  and  through  the  meadows, 
In  the  sun  and  in  the  shadows, 
On  dry  bank  and  springy  brookside  equally  this 

wilding  grows; 

Through  the  fences  and  through  bushes 
"Where  the  sparrows  and  shy  thrushes 
Hide  from  sight  their  precious  nestlings,  there  this 
fearless  runner  goes. 


94 


<J5 


Over  sagging  rails  decaying, 
Up  the  stakes  but  feebly  staying, 
Where  the  playful  squirrels  scamper,  run  and  chat 
ter  in  their  play; 
Filling  all  the  gaps  and  breaches 
With  its  long  and  swaying  reaches, 
Grows  the  vigorous  young  clematis  concealing  old 
decay. 

In  an  earlier  age,  when  Beauty 
Owed  to  Use  not  any  duty, 
When  our  fathers  looked  upon  the  world  with  the 

feelings  of  a  boy; 

Then  they  saw  why  roads  were  haunted 
By  this  graceful  runner  planted 
By  the  bounteous  hand  of  Nature,  and  they  called 
it  Traveler's  Joy. 


THKUSH'S    LULLABY. 

When  the  days  in  summer  die, 
When  the  light  fades  from  the  sky, 
Then  the  thrush 
In  the  bush 

Sings  her  evening  lullaby; 
Then  the  stars  that  are  so  high, 
Winking  roguishly  and  sly 

To  the  stars  that  dance  and  shiver 
On  the  ripples  of  the  river 
As  the  leaves  of  poplars  quiver 
When  the  summer  breeze  goes  by, 
Wink  and  nod  to  primrose  shy 
As  she  opens  wide  her  eye, 
Waiting  with  the  firefly 

From  her  day-dreams  fair  and  bright 
To  the  glories  of  the  night, 
Just  when  lilies  on  the  stream 
Close  their  drowsy  eyes  to  dream 
Of  the  glories  of  the  day. 
How  with  steady  gaze  do  they 
Every  one 
Watch  the  sun 

From  the  dawn  till  evening  gray, 
Till  his  splendors  die  away! 
When  the  darkness  brooding  nigh 
Silences  each  twittering  cry 
To  a  hush, 
Then  the  thrush 
In  the  bush 
Leads  to  a  lapsing  close  her  low -trilled  lullaby. 


96 


TWIN  -  FLO  WEE. 

O  strangely  rare! 

The  odor  faint  brought  on  the  passing  breeze, 
The  balsam  breath  blown  from  the  tall  flr  trees 

That  silent  rise  and  fair, 

In  the  hot  summer  air! 

And,  mingling  sweet, 
A  rich  perfume,  more  delicate  by  far 
Than  spicy  gales  from  tropic  islands  are, 

Kises  about  our  feet, 

For  offered  incense  meet. 

Beneath  the  screen 

Of  bearded  hemlock  boughs  and  royal  pines, 
The  twin -flower  traces  with  its  slender  vines 

A  pattern  dimly  seen 

On  carpet  soft  and  green. 

The  springy  moss 

Retains  slight  impress  of  the  trampling  foot, 
But  thick  on  fallen  trunk  and  buttress  root 

Slowly  it  creeps  across 

Decay,  and  hides  all  loss. 

But  here  and  there 
A  delicate  pale  flower  turns  its  head 
To  sweetheart's  kiss;  —  more  softly  now  we  tread, 

By  fragrance  made  aware 

Of  the  fond  loving  pair. 


YELLOW    BIRD. 

Erect,  alone, 

Alert  as  picket  on  the  outer  line, 
Amid  a  waste  of  sands, 
Or  posted  by  a  stone 
With  lichens  overgrown 

On  hill -side  sheepwalk  under  August's  shine, 
The  stately  mullein  stands, 
Craving  no  part  in  lands 
To  drought  unknown. 
About  its  feet  are  seen 
Soft  robes  of  velvet  green 
In  which  its  early  youth  was  richly  dressed, 

Now  upward  from  the  waist 
On  lines  that  run  oblique  across  its  breast, 
At  intervals  are  decorations  placed, 
Mild  stars  of  softest  gold, 
Such  gold  as  waking  primroses  unfold, 
To  Venus  shining  bright,  and  low  down  in  the  west. 


98 


Well  poised  is  worn 

A  burnished  helmet  of  that  self -same  gold 
With  which  its  sides  are  graced; 
As  martial,  is  it  sworn, 
As  Roman  eagle  borne 
By  legionary  troops  through  Gaul  of  old, 
Or  royal  standard  placed 
On  Syria's  desert  waste, 

Unawed,  untorn; 
Till  easy  as  a  thought 
By  sudden  fancy  caught 
This  Phrygian  symbol  takes  its  flight  so  free, 

Now  falling  and  anon 

Rising  with  gentle  grace  as  billows  on  the  sea, 
To  yonder  ripening  thistle  is  it  gone, 
And  as  it  floats  along 
It  times  the  rhythmic  movements  with  its 

song; 

Exultant  mounts  each  crest,  with  soft  die -wee,  che- 
wee/ 


TABEOW. 

In  close  companionship  with  man 

Yet  having  in  his  thought  110  share, 

A  poor  neglected  weed, 
Outcast,  existing  under  ban, 

Unheeded  vagrant  everywhere 
That  human  footsteps  lead, 
By  dusty  road,  green  lane  and  footpath  narrow, 
Grows  with  its  thousand  feathery  leaves  the  yarrow. 

In  God's  great,  universal  plan, 
Of  our  poor  notice,  of  our  care 

The  milfoil  hath  what  need  ? 
Those  leaves,  so  softly  bending,  can 
Show  service  in  the  world  as  fair 

As  is  man's  noblest  deed;  — 

lu  Spring-time  down  the  lane  the  social  sparrow 
Builds  trustingly  her  nest  'neath  sheltering  yarrow. 


100 


WOOD    THRUSH. 

The  silent  world  lies  all  asleep 

Beneath  the  silent  moon, 
Wood  thrushes  sunk  in  slumber  deep 

Will  wake  to  singing  soon; 
In  crowfoot  cups  bright  dewdrops  lie 
As  glistening  tears  in  pitying  eye, 
The  ardent  sun  will  kiss  them  dry 

Before  the  burning  noon. 

Now  one  by  one  the  birds  awake, 

At  once  begin  to  sing, 
And  now  the  day  begins  to  break 

As  crowfoot  blooms  in  Spring ; 
Now  field  and  wood  with  song  are  gay, 
With  songs  to  welcome  in  the  day, 
Now  thrush  low  trills  his  simple  lay, 

A  wonderful  sweet  thing. 


101 


102 


Now  weary  world  would  go  to  sleep, 

The  sun  has  gone  to  bed, 
Now  shadows  o'er  the  meadows  creep, 

The  crowfoot  hangs  her  head; 
Now  buttercups  and  lilies  fold 
Against  the  moonbeams  pale  and  cold 
Those  noonday  hearts  of  burning  gold, 

Their  good -night  wishes  said. 

Now  one  by  one  the  stars  above 
Are  lighted  clear  and  bright, 
And  Primrose  burns  her  flame  of  love 

To  shed  a  softer  light; 
Now  sparrow's  song  forgets  to  ring, 
Her  head  is  tucked  beneath  her  wing, 
Now  only  thrush  is  left  to  sing 

The  weary  world's  "  Good  -  night." 


AKETHUSAS. 

Within  the  crystal  of  the  streamlet  flowing 

Through  hot  June  meadows,  answers  flower  to 

flower, 
Its  low  banks  crowd  they  bringing  Beauty's 

dower 
As  fond  Narcissus  to  the  fountain  going. 

There  much  elated,  green  and  crimson  showing, 
They  drink  dissolved  pearls  at  morning  hour 
In  cups  of  ruby,  —  fatal  noontide  power 

Of  rising  sun  their  simple  faith  not  knowing. 

Unhappy  flowers,  the  flrst  day  of  whose  living 
Was  last  as  well  by  Nature's  plan  intended ! 
By  seeking  beauty  your  frail  life  was  ended, 

That  fatal  beauty,  too,  of  your  own  giving! 

Symbol  of  fate,  — truth  taught  in  fields  and 
meadows, 

Whose  life  is  not  defrauded  by  life's  shadows  ! 


108 


SAND  -  PIPER 

In  eastern  light  the  ebbing  tide 

Rims  down  the  rippled  shelving  sand, 
It  leaves  the  beach  uncovered  wide, 

A  smooth  gray  border  to  the  land ; 
The  low  tones  heightened  by  the  tint 

Of  rose  reflected  from  the  skies, 
That  silvered  surface  shows  the  print 

Of  bird-tracks  plain  to  peering  eyes. 

Thus  stretching  off  in  morning  gray 

The  long,  pale  line  of  watery  beach 
In  curves  of  beauty  winds  away, 

Far  as  the  challenged  sight  can  reach ; 
But,  lo!  a  presence  comes  between 

The  rippling  water's  edge  and  me, 
A  bird's  slight  figure  dimly  seen 

En  silhouette  against  the  sea. 

Not  yet  begins  the  meadow  bird 

Its  song  of  waking  soft  and  clear; 
Not  yet  is  flute -like  trilling  heard 

From  orchard  tree,  from  thicket  near; 
But  simple  as  the  beauty  found 

Between  the  ocean  and  the  land, 
At  silent  dawn  is  heard  the  sound 

Of  plaintive  piping  from  the  sand. 


104 


FOKGET  -  ME  -  NOT. 

Forget-me-not,  with  eyes  as  blue 

As  summer  skies  without  a  blot, 
All  wet  with  tears  of  morning  dew, 
Low -blending  grasses  looking  through 

With  wistful  pleadings  ne'er  forgot;  — 
Dear  flower,  from  year  to  year  most  true 

To  look  up  from  the  self -same  spot, 
So  does  your  lover  watch  for  you, 

Forget-me-not! 

Forget-me-not!  forefend  the  thought 
That  one  who  has  of  friends  so  few 

Should  count  your  tender  pleading  nought! 

Ah,  no !  lamenting  lonely  lot 
Of  your  abundandt  grace  I  sue, 

"  Forget  -  me  -  not !" 


105 


HUMMING    BIRD. 

A  flash 

As  of  a  meteor  bursting  on  the  sight, 
A  sudden  gleam  of  many  -  colored  light 

Shot  from  the  burning  heart  of  opal  stone; 

A  dash 

As  of  a  falcon  bold  or  swooping  kite 
Surprising  quarry  keen  from  its  far  height, 
And  all  the  vision  instantly  is  gone! 

A  sound 

Like  that  from  quivering  wings  of  honey  bees 
About  the  bursting  bloom  of  orchard  trees 
An  instant,  now  and  then,  is  plainly  heard; 

A  round 

Of  momentary  visits  such  as  these 
Reveals  as  indistinctly  as  one  sees 

Bewildering  flight  of  sun -bred  Humming  Bird. 


106 


MITCHELLA. 

In  midday  twilight  made  by  hemlocks  old 

That  lean  together  in  the  somber  woods, 
Close  grouped  as  kindred  trees  that  fain  would  hold, 
In  whisperings  low,  communion  here  alone 
Where  seldom  foot  of  curious  man  intrudes 
To  press  the  rounded  stone 
Plashed  by  the  headlong  rill 
That  tumbles  down  the  hill, 
And  with  green  moss  o'ergrown. 
There  creeps  a  beauty  shy  and  low 
Beneath  the  moss,  beneath  the  snow, 
For  never  does  the  green  vine  cease  to  grow 
In  summer's  time  of  heat,  in  winter's  time  of  cold. 

Made  glad  with  spring-time  fancies  pearly  white, 

Two  tender  blossoms  on  a  single  stem 
In  their  sweet  coral  fruitage  close  unite 

As  rounded  bead  cut  from  a  garnet  red; 
And  all  the  year  the  vine,  uplifting  them, 
Creeps  on  with  cautions  tread, 
As  if  between  soft  palms 
Its  treasure  safe  from  harms 
Was  borne  above  its  head. 
Proud  of  a  beauty  that  abides 
Through  all  the  long  year's  changing  tides 
While  in  the  wolf's -foot  deep  herself  she 

hides, 
Mitchella  shows  her  jewels  with  delight! 


107 


PE-WIT,    PE-WEE. 

Sing,  little  songster  in  the  tree, 

From  thy  full  heart  out-pouring 
The  very  soul  of  minstrelsy, 
The  joy  the  morning  brings  to  thee 

As  to  the  lark  up -soaring; 
Sing  o'er  again  thy  song  for  me, 
Pe-wit,  pe-wee  — pe-wit,  pe-wee, 
And  chant  with  gentle  ecstasy 
The  hymn  of  thy  adoring. 

Sing  o'er  and  o'er  again  for  me 

That  song  the  stillness  breaking; 
Right  well  those  simple  notes  agree 
With  thy  life  hid  in  a  lilac  tree, 

The  noisy  world  forsaking: 
Repeat  once  more,  and  then,  please  thee, 
Pe-wit,  pe-wee  — pe-wit,  pe-wee 
The  sweetest  verse  of  all  shall  be 
'Moiig  the  verses  of  my  making. 


108 


SWEET -BKIAR. 

In  a  basin  'mong  the  hills  there  lies, 
Blue  and  clear— the  image  of  the  skies  — 
Water  resting  under  noon -clay  bright, 
Sweet  resort  of  fancies  gay  and  light; 

There  among  the  flowers 

Birds  are  gaily  singing, 

Happy,  happy  hours! 

At  the  margin  of  the  lake  there  grows, 
Climbing  to  the  air,  a  sweet-briar  rose, 
Forming  with  its  vine,  its  leaf  and  flower, 
O'er  the  blue,  inverted  heavens,  a  bower; 

Its  perfume  sweet  is  pleasant, 

By  favor  of  the  breezes, 

To  lord  and  peasant. 

From  western  hill -tops,  when  the  day  Is  done, 
Falls  on  the  rose  the  strange  light  of  the  sun, 
Two  opening  buds  make  all  the  sweet-briar  gay 
These  both  appearing  on  the  self -same  day; 
With  moisture  teeming 
The  chill  air  turns  their  breath 
To  tear-drop's  seeming. 


109 


110 


When  in  the  east  again  the  morning  shows, 
On  from  the  rising  sun  a  bright  ray  Hows, 
It  breaks  upon  the  briar's  buds  young  and  tender, 
Two  lovely  roses  bloom  in  morning's  splendor! 

Then  the  dew-drops  pearly 

Perfume  the  air  about 

In  the  morning  early. 


BOBOLINKS. 

Always  happy  and  gay, 

With  a  voice  that's  always  in  tune, 
Swinging  on  willowy  spray 
In  the  meadows  over  the  way, 

Swinging  and  singing  with  all  their  might 

In  the  summer  morning's  amethyst  light, 
Sit  the  musical  bobolinks; 

And  out  of  their  tuneful  throats 

A  song  of  magical  notes, 

Liquid  and  melting,  floats, 
Softly  rises  and  sinks 

On  the  warm  sweet  breath  of  June. 

Loud  and  louder  they  sing 

In  the  joy  of  life  and  of  light, 
Wider  and  wider  they  swing 
Till  they  rise  on  fluttering  wing, 

Straining  and  straining  their  throats  to  poui 

The  joy  from  their  full  hearts  brimming  o'er 
In  a  shower  of  musical  rain; 

And  that  flood  of  song,  heaven  -  born 

With  the  golden  light  of  morn, 

Shed  over  the  dewy  corn, 

Charms  with  the  sweetest  of  pain 

To  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 


Ill 


112 


Falling  and  hovering  low 

Over  the  young  brood  warm  in  the  nest, 

Lullaby  cadences  flow 

Tenderly,  vanishing  slow; 

As  at  first  the  rollicking  jollity  rose 
Now  soberly  lapses  the  lay  to  its  close 

In  the  sweetest  accents  of  love. 
Lost  are  the  birds  to  our  view, 
ifet  tremulous  notes  come  through 
Bright  sparkling  crystals  of  dew 
Bending  tall  grasses  above 

Sweet  hearts  loved  by  bobolinks  best. 


NODDING    THISTLE. 

Adown  the  slope  the  breezes  bring 

From  hazels  growing  by  the  wall 
Sweet  tender  lays  the  linnets  sing, 

The  robin's  loud  and  anxious  call; 
But  softest,  sweetest  note  to-day, 

Heard  on  this  quiet  cattle  -  stead, 
Bright  goldfinch  weaves  into  his  lay 

"While  swinging  on  the  thistle  -  head. 

Adown  the  slope  the  breezes  bring 

Soft  breath  of  brambles  budding  new, 
Faint  odors  sweet  that  fondly  cling 

Kound  clover  wet  with  early  dew; 
But  sweeter  than  the  breath  of  these, 

More  potent  than  their  rich  perfume, 
Is  fragrance  sweet  that  calls  the  bees 

Around  the  nectared  thistle  -  bloom. 

Adown  the  slope  the  breezes  bring 

Dead  needles  loosened  from  the  pines, 
As  butterflies  on  painted  wing 

Go  wandering  where  sweet  summer  shines; 
But  lighter  than  these  needles  dry 

Blown  from  the  tall  pine's  swaying  crown, 
Upon  these  silent  winds  float  by 

White  silvery  flocks  of  thistle-down. 


US 


KINGBIRD. 

Harsh  tyrant  of  the  air, 
With  fear  regarded,  not  with  love, 
Not  charming  with  the  sweetness  of  thy  sous 
Nor  with  the  beauty  of  thy  plumage  fair, 
Thou  dost  compel  obedience  from  the' throng 
Of  birds  that  haunt  the  copse  and  grove, 
By  readiness  to  dare. 

The  careless  passer-by, 
The  hawk  intent  upon  his  prey, 
Swift  sliding  down  the  fields  on  easy  wing 
Upon  the  timid  mouse  has  fixed  his  eye 
And  deems  its  capture  is  an  easy  thing, 
Till  in  disgust  he  turns  away 
On  hearing  thy  sharp  cry. 

Thou  hast  for  ready  aid 
The  swallow  rushing  into  fight, 
For  such  fierce  bird  unequal  match  alone, 

But  by  example  most  courageous  made; 
His  cause  he  thinks  one  common  with  thine  own ; 
Eight  quickly  puts  the  foe  to  flight; 
Safe,  being  not  afraid. 


114 


ST.    JOHN'S    WORT. 

How  cheery,  warm  and  bright 

With  golden  yellow  light 
The  hillside  pasture  this  midsummer  day, 

As  through  the  fragrant  fern 

The  starry  flowers  burn 
With  all  the  brilliancy  of  noontide  ray! 

Was  it  for  this  of  old  — 

This  blazing  gleam  of  gold 
From  petals  shining  as  from  altar  flame  — 

For  token  of  their  praise 

That  men  in  olden  days 
Should  give  St.  John's  Wort  for  this  flower's  name? 

Because  its  flame  was  seen 

Kindled  in  pastures  green 
At  time  when  he,  the  Baptist,  came  on  earth, 

Of  whom  it  was  foretold 

By  sainted  prophets  old 
That  many  should  have  gladness  in  his  birth  ? 

When  came  the  year  around, 
With  birch  and  fennel  bound, 

This  flower  our  fathers  hung  above  the  door 
In  mother  England  dear, 
And  so  they  brought  it  here 

To  keep  that  home  remembered  on  this  shore. 


115 


YELLOW  -THKOATED    WAKBLER. 

Foad  lover  of  a  lonely  spot 

Deep  in  the  silent  wood 
Where  hound  and  huntsman  enter  not, 
Where  undisturbed  by  shout  or  shot 

The  heron  rears  her  brood, 

To-day  beside  a  meadow  stream 

My  stealthy  steps  intrude 
Upon  the  water's  quiet  dream;— 
Proclaimed  by  loud  kingfisher's  scream 

I  break  this  solitude. 

Here  in  lithe  birches  leaning  o'er 
The  sleepy  pool's  low  muddy  shore 

This  hot,  still  day  in  June, 
I  hear  thy  voice  from  clear  throat  pour 

A  marvelous  sweet  tune, 
Just  spy  thee  on  the  birch  twigs  swinging, 
Thou  yellow -throated  warbler  singing; 
Lilting,  tilting, 
Tilting,  lilting, 

That  swaying  movement  timing 
Thy  music's  bell -like  chiming 

Bung  pendulous  and  slow 
Till  Echo's  startled  clamoring  is  stilled 

To  thy  sweet  singing  low; 
Till  with  its  rhythmic  melody  the  air  about 

is  filled, 
And  with  responsive  ectasy  thy  listener  is 

thrilled. 


116 


HAREBELLS. 

Swinging,  slowly  swinging, 

Harebells  rise  and  fall; 
Clinging,  closely  clinging, 

To  the  mountain  wall; 
Swinging,  slowly  swinging, 

Harebells  fall  and  rise; 
Hinging,  ever  ringing, 

Music  to  the  eyes. 

Chiming,  softly  chiming, 

With  the  summer  breeze, 
All  their  music  timing 

To  the  waving  trees; 
Ravished  with  the  seeing 

Gladly  would  we  know 
For  what  favored  being 

Tones  of  harebells  flow. 

Blessed,  happy  creature 

Harebell  tones  that  hears, 
Mystic  sounds  of  nature 

Silent  to  our  ears! 
Oh,  ecstatic  pleasure,    • 

Theme  for  seraph's  tongue, 
Listening  to  the  measure 

From  the  harebells  rung! 


117 


VESPER    SPARROW. 

The  summer  evening,  warm  and  still, 

Hears  crickets  chirping  loud  and  clear; 
From  darkening  woods  below  the  hill 
Hears  veery's  low,  soft,  liquid  trill 
Chime  in  with  waters  of  the  rill, 
'Neath  alders,  running  near. 

Sweet,  too,  the  strains  of  music  heard 

The  dusty  wayside  hedge  along, 
Out -matching  charm  of  chanted  word 
From  heart  of  man,  when  heart  of  bird 
With  joy  of  life  and  love  is  stirred 
To  sing  her  even -song. 

'Tis  from  the  bay -wing  sparrow's  breast 
Is  poured  this  melting  music  free, 

She  sits  above  the  secret  nest 

Where  lie  dear  hearts  she  loves  tho  best, 

Sings  all  the  chirping  brood  to  rest 
With  this  low  melody. 

For  weary  toiler  passing  by 

This  strain  his  heart  with  feeling  stirs, 
He  hears  the  young  ones'  twittering  cry, 
Their  mother's  soothing  lullaby, 
Hears  notes  of  rapture  mounting  high, 

Thanks  God  for  cares  like  hers. 


118 


SWEET    MAKIGOLDS. 

Sweet  marigolds,  so  fair  and  bright, 

At  dawn  so  early  waking 
To  watch  the  coming  of  the  light 
That  streaks  the  east  with  pearly  white, 

A)x>ve  the  hill -tops  breaking; 
All  day  ye  follow  with  delight 
The  sun,  and  keep  his  face  In  sight, 
Then  weary  close  your  eyes  at  night 

As  if  to  ease  their  aching. 

We  see  you  turning  towards  the  west 

To  watch  your  regal  lover; 
The  loyal  feeling  thus  expressed, 
The  passion  burning  in  your  breast 

Is  easy  to  discover; 
But  far  from  easy  to  be  guessed 
The  dreams  that  in  your  quiet  rest 
Turn  you  once  more  to  that  fond  quest 

Before  the  night  is  over. 


119 


KINGFISHER. 

Companion  meet  of  heron  and  of  loon, 

Haunting  with  these  the  marge  of  sluggish  stream, 
Or  sunken  shore  of  overflowed  lagoon, 

More  lonely  making  this  with  savage  scream ; 

Dead  blasted  tree  blanched  by  rude  wind  and  storm, 
Wrapped  ghostly  skeleton  of  withered  birch, 

Its  white  robe  slipping  from  its  shrunken  form, 
Outstreches  bare  white  arm,  a  proffered  perch. 

Here  dost  thou  sit  in  the  hot  summer's  day 
Silent  and  motionless,  thy  piercing  eight 

Close  tracks  the  path  of  unsuspecting  prey, 
Shy  pickerel  glancing  in  the  noonday  light. 

That  search  unceasing  is  the  watch  still  kept 
By  Halcyon  waiting  on  the  island  shore; 

That  patient  heart  and  eye  have  never  slept, 
They  look  for  Ceyx  coming  nevermore. 

That  darting  flight  through  bushes  by  the  side 
Of  sedgy  marshes  in  the  opening  spring, 

Recalls  that  morning  when  the  maiden  died 
And  met  her  mate,  restored  on  equal  wing. 

Men  say  thy  back  received  its  coat  of  blue 
From  skies  unclouded  when  the  Flood  was  done, 

Then  caught  thy  breast  its  gorgeous  tawny  hue 
In  that  long  flight  towards  the  setting  sun. 


120 


BOB  WHITE. 

What  tender,  plaintive  call 

In  notes  of  singing  bird 
From  the  wood's  edge  is  heard 
In  waning  summer  or  in  early  fall, 
Repeated  o'er  and  o'er  so  clear. 
We  wonder,  as  the  name  we  hear, 
Who  is  this  lonesome  sprite 
That  wants  Bob  White  ? 

When  dawns  the  eastern  day, 

When  all  the  birds  awake, 
Join  in  the  song  to  make 
Young  morning's  gladsome  roundelay, 
We  hear  among  the  liquid  notes 
From  swelling  hearts  and  straining 

throats, 

That  pleading  tone  invite 
"  Bob  White!  Bob  White ! " 


121 


122 


When  evening's  level  beams 

The  longer  shadows  throw. 
And  these  the  faster  grow 
Across  the  meadow  s  and  the  streams, 
We  hear  above  the  even-song 
That  winsome  calling  clear  and  strong 
Chime  with  the  last  good -night, 
"Bob  White!  Bob  White!" 

Is  it  that  'mong  the  birds 

A  myth  goes  with  the  phrase, 
As  in  these  later  days 
Old  faiths  are  veiled  beneath  our  words  ? 

As  Hylas  at  the  spring  was  sought, 
Eurydice  from  Hades  brought, 
Is  called  some  errant  wight, 
"Bob  White!  Bob  White!" 


HARDBACK. 

About  half -buried  boulders,  overgrown 
With  cold  gray  lichens  and  with  patches  round 

Of  yellow  moss  set  in  concentric  rings; 
Upon  rough  surface  of  the  weathered  stone, 
There  stubborn  hardback  bold  disputes  the  ground 
With  creeping  vine,  and  to  its  refuge  clings. 

Not  fed  upon  by  any  browsing  herd, 
Protection  only  claiming  from  the  hoof, 

And  having  this  from  pasture  rock  and  wall; 
Retreat  well  noticed  by  sagacious  bird 
Whose  nest  has  hardback  leafage  for  its  roof, 
And  close  rose-tinted  racemes  over  all. 

Among  wild  native  bushes  creeping  fast 
O'er  our  neglected  iields  and  pastures  bare, 

How  frequent  is  the  blooming  hardback  met! 
Its  fragrance  breathing  of  a  happier  past 
When  in  the  mother  land  with  thoughtful  care, 
A  favored  shrub,  'twas  in  the  hedgerows  set! 


123 


SPEEDING    THE    SWALLOW. 

The  summer's  nigh !  fly,  swallow,  fly ! 

The  welcome  news  conveying! 
Tho  burden  of  thy  twittering  cry, 
The  omen  presaged  to  he  eye 
That  marks  thy  flight  across  the  sky, 

Admit  of  no  gainsaying. 
A  homesick  longing  makes  thee  hie, 
Thy  anxious  cares  have  urged  thee  by 

The  summer  winds  delaying. 

The  winter 's  nigh !  fly,  swallow,  fly, 

To  overtake  the  summer! 
For  she  hath  left  our  northern  sky, 
Hath  left  her  flowers  to  freeze  and  die; 
Her  friends  without  a  last  good  -  bye, 

As  little  doth  become  her. 
Hasten  thy  flight;  but  here  must  I 
Bide  till  the  spring,  in  hope  to  spy 

Thee  then  the  earliest  comer. 


124 


CAKDINAL  -  FLO WEES. 

What  royal  standards  these, 
What  banners  in  the  breeze 

That  steals  adown  the  brookside  beneath  the  maple 
trees  ? 

The  stream  is  running  low, 
Its  noisy  waters  go 

Light  rippling  over  worn  stones  under  the  August 
glow. 

Both  sides  the  stream  to-day 
Unfurl  red  flags  and  gay, 

As  if  confronting  armies  here  were  drawn  up  in 
array. 

What  passion  could  intrude 
To  this  lone  solitude 

To  cause  the  banners  of  these  hosts  with  blood  to 
be  imbued! 

Or  is  it  civic  scene, 
Brave  escort  of  a  queen, 

Or  function  of  the  Church  or  State  that  In  this  dell 
is  seen  ? 

The  cardinals  to-day 
Are  coming  up  this  way, 

And  with  Lheir  deep -ensanguined  cowls  they  make 
this  brave  display. 


125 


BLUE    JAY. 

October  woods  with  light  are  all  aglow, 

Their  summer  paths,  dim  as  monastic  aisles, 
Are  lighted  now  from  golden  leaves  below, 

Through  golden  leaves  above  the  sunshine  smiles; 
As  flames  the  redbud  in  the  early  spring, 

In  Indian  summer  bright  the  sumach  burns, 
Gay  as  gay  butterflies  on  painted  wings 

To  red  and  gold  the  broad  swamp  maple  turns. 

Gnarled  oaks  take  slowly  on  their  russet  brown, 

To  twilight  paleness  silent  beeches  fade, 
Long  ash  leaves  in  the  morning  flutter  down, 

Their  dark  green  deepened  to  a  violet  shade; 
The  noisy  jay  comes  with  its  startling  cry, 

'Mid  yellow  leaves  of  maple  takes  Its  perch; 
A  bit  of  blue  in  gold,  as  if  the  sky 

Were  seen  in  patches  through  the  faded  birch. 


126 


GOLDEN  -  ROD. 

When  in  its  silvery  husk  the  ripening  rnaize 

Turns  all  its  summer  -treasured  wealth  to  gold, 
When  up  and  down  the  field  round  pumpkins 
blaze,  — 

Benignant  planets  on  our  vision  rolled  — 
Within  the  corners  of  the  gray  stone  wall 

Bright  yellow  golden -rod,  of  summer  born, 
Shows  with  the  milkweeds  and  rough  thistles  tall, 

Itself  just  blooming  when  matures  the  corn. 

It  bears  proud  summer's  banneret  of  gold, 

Full  spread  and  flaunting,  into  early  fall, 
Defies  the  frost,  defies  September's  cold, 

A  hardy  outcast,  triumphs  over  all, 
With  gipsies  tenting  by  the  dusty  way, 

Preferring  spots  unkept  by  human  care, 
Warms  with  its  golden  light  the  year's  decay, 

And  saves  the  deepening  shadows  from  despair. 


127 


BLACKBIRDS. 

The  stillness  of  our  late  September  days 

Is  broken  in  upon  by  shrill -toned  voices, 
The  call  of  crow,  the  saucy  scream  of  jays, 

The  scolding  rant  in  which  chipmu«k  rejoices; 
Among  them  all  the  blackbird's  frequent  note 

Comes  from  the  field -side  wood,  a  constant 

chatter, 
A  loud  complaining  from  so  many  a  throat 

No  mortal  man  can  tell  what  is  the  matter. 

The  wheat  and  rye  were  garnered  long  ago, 

All  birds  are  free  to  glean  upon  the  stubble, 
Blackbird  and  jay  share  with  the  crafty  crow, 

How  can  it  be  that  there  is  any  trouble  ? 
And  yet  the  blackbirds  drown  the  noisy  jays 

By  keeping  up  their  everlasting  clatter, 
I  wonder  if  one  bird  knows  what  he  says, 

Or  one  that  hears  finds  out  what  is  the  matter. 

On  mischief  bent,  the  crow  forbears  to  preach, 

The  chipmunk's  cheeks  are  much  too  full  of  barl  ey, 
Perchance  the  busy  jay  forgets  to  screech, 

On  no  occasion  blackbirds  fail  to  parley; 
Discordant  notes  are  showered  i'rom  the  tree 

As  on  the  shingle  roof  the  raindrops  patter, 
It  is  a  blackbirds'  gathering  at  high  tea, 

And  what  the  gossip  means  it  does  not  matter. 


128 


FRINGED    GENTIANS. 

Late  do  you  coine,  alone 
Beneath  our  chill  October  skies, 
To  meadows  stretching  on  beside  the  stream, 

As  if  you  had  not  known 
The  long  procession  which  had  gone  before 

Since  when  the  crocus  opened  first  its  eyes, 
First  woke  from  its  long  dream 

And,  peeping  through  the  snow,  saw  with 

surprise 
Pale  daffodils  once  more; 

Heard  bluebirds  blithely  sing 
'Mid  Winter's  sudden  rout  the  coming  of  the 
Spring. 

You  have  not  seen  the  bloom 
Clothe  leafless  orchard  trees  in  pink  and 

white, 
You  have  not  seen  the  oriole  in  his  pride, 

Seen  golden -flowering  broom 
Run  over  rocky  slopes  as  runs  the  flame 

Of  forest  fires  burning  in  the  night 
Along  a  mountain's  side; 

Nor  have  you  come  in  time  to  catch  a  sight 
Of  our  home  swallows  tame, 
Who  all  the  summer  long 

Skimmed  over  fields  made  glad  with  bobolink's 
gay  song. 


12? 


18V 


Now  field's  are  bro\vn  and  bare, 
Dull,  sober,  lying  under  sober  skies, 
And  only  now  is  chirp  of  cricket  heard; 

Along  the  wood's  edge  where 
Of  late  the  thrushes  trilled  a  pensive  song 

The  screaming  jay  across  the  open  flies: 
In  color,  flower  and  bird 

As  noonday  cloud  and  shadow  harmonize. 
To  neither  do  we  wrong 
By  saying  both  are  blue 
To  show  that  Nature's  good  -  night  thought  is  true 


PUKPLE    FINCH. 

Brown -coated  bird  that  loves  to  sing 
While  poised  upon  a  rapid  wing, 
Content  in  leafless  woods  to  stay 
Beneath  November's  skies  of  gray, 

How  sweet  to  hear 

Those  few  notes  clear 

Ring  out  on  days  else  sad  and  drear! 

Red -hooded  cousin  to  the  warm 

Pino  Grosbeak  braving  winter's  storm, 

Is  it  for  him  you  patient  wait 

Round  clumps  of  pine  and  spruce  so  late  ? 

For  him  you  sing 

The  song  you  bring 

So  early  back  again  in  spring? 

Or  are  you  loth  as  we  should  be 
To  leave  the  cheery  chick -a -dee, 
Have  you  a  longing  in  the  spring, 
As  we,  to  hear  the  blue -bird  sing? 

Or  do  you  find 

Among  our  kind 

Companions  suited  to  your  mind  ? 


131 


ASTEES. 

The  hunter's  moon,  this  cold  October  night, 

Sheds  silver  light, 
On  either  side  attendant,  lelt  and  right, 

Stars  sparkle  bright. 

Beneath  that  glittering  splendor,  hard  and  cold, 

Through  aether  rolled, 
Along  the  border  line  'twixt  field  and  wold 

Pale  stars  unfold; 

Late  asters  waiting  till  the  waning  year 

Shows  foliage  sere, 
Till  from  the  stubble  cricket's  chirping  clear 

At  night  we  hear. 

These  are  the  stars  attendant  on  the  nod 

Of  golden -rod, 
Thick  as  in  spring-time  dandelions  trod 

The  velvet  sod. 

With  these,  in  clustered  constellations  found 

On  fallow  ground, 
Shedding  their  starry  radiance  around, 

The  year  is  crowned. 


132 


BROWN    CREEPER. 

Shy,  silent  dweller  in  the  lonely  wood, 
For  fond  mates  having  cheerful  chick-a-dees 
These  gloomy  days  of  winter  when  the  trees 

Stand  naked,  shivering,  as  if  dryads  stood 

Trembling  for  fear  of  footsteps  that  intrude 
With  thought  of  havoc  where  will  summer  breeze 
Call  with  soft  fragrant  breath  luxurious  bees 

To  feast  on  nectar  and  ambrosial  food; 

For  thy  sweet  sake  let  not  this  solitude 
Lose  strength  to  shield,  or  charm  it  has  to  please, 

The  timid  chicks  of  Nature's  blameless  brood. 
Here  in  these  tops  of  hemlocks  gray  one  sees 

How  thoughtful  Nature,  ever  kind  and  good, 
Spreads  tempest -proof,  round  sheltering  tents  for 
these. 


138 


WITCH-HAZEL    BLOOM. 

Oh !  bitter  cold  the  winds  and  strong  they  blow 
From  northern  hills  across  the  frozen  lakes; 

They  fiercely  drive  and  mock  the  falling  snow 
That  fills  the  air  with  dizzy,  whirling  flakes. 

The  summer  voices  all  are  hushed  and  still, 
There  is  no  hum  of  insects  in  the  grass, 

The  frost  forbids  the  babbling  of  the  rill, 
Beneath  the  ice  the  waters  silent  pass. 

On  oak  and  beech  still  cling  the  russet  leaves 
To  frozen  branches  in  this  season  drear. 

Through  those  dead  lips  the  shivering  dryad  grieves 
The  vanished  glories  of  the  happier  year. 

From  leaden  skies  flock  out  thick  flakes  of  snow, 
On  downy  wings  of  frost  they  soft  alight, 

And  on  the  brown -striped  hazel  twigs  below 
With  golden  bloom  show  stars  of  silver  white. 

These  yellow  petals  opening  late  and  rare 
To  grace  the  thicket  when  the  year  is  done, 

Seem,  in  their  pearly  setting,  e'en  more  fair 
Than  poppies  blushing  in  the  summer's  sun. 


134 


CHICK- A-DEE. 

Chick -a -dee, 

Chick  -  a  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee, 
This  bleak  December  day 
Sings  the  titmouse  light  and  gay, 
In  his  close  and  comely  \vrap, 
In  his  black  and  jaunty  cap, 
While  the  air  is  full  of  snow, 
And  the  icy  flurries  blow 

Bitter  cold; 

When  the  ice  is  on  the  stream, 
And  the  sleeping  chipmunks  dream 

Dreams  of  old; 
In  the  woodland  all  around 
Wailing  winds  of  winter  sound, 
Swaying  branches  snap  and  creak, 
Pines  and  hemlocks  groan  and  shriek. 
Music  sweet  of  singing  bird, 
Only  blithe  and  gay  is  heard 

Chick -a- dee, 
Chick  -  a  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  doe  -  dee, 


136 


136 


Chick -a -dee, 

Chick  -  a  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee ; 
How  that  cheery,  merry  note, 
Sounded  from  a  happy  throat, 
All  this  nook  among  the  hills 
"With  a  quickened  memory  thrills! 
How  its  rich  and  sweet  content, 
To  the  gloom  of  winter  lent, 

Gladdens  me! 

Not  the  lonesomeness  that's  here, 
Not  the  dying  of  the  year 

Saddens  thee. 

In  the  leafy  woods  of  June 
When  the  thrushes  are  in  tune, 
When  the  thickets  are  all  gay 
With  the  warbler  and  the  jay, 
Pipe  for  memory  again 
This  same  cheerful  winter  strain, 

Chick  -  a  -  dee, 
Chick  -  a  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  dee  -  dec. 


^XX — a     ,. 


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